Red Garland
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Episode tag for "Jolly Red Elf." Lisbon deals with a drunk Jane and they share an unforgettable encounter-at least it was for her. Rated T/M for language and sexuality. No copyright infringement intended.
1. Red Nose

A/N: This was once a one-shot, but I've decided to continue it. It takes place right after "Jolly Red Elf," and will continue in the Christmas timeframe. I know it is nice to contemplate that in the heat of August! Chapter 1 is the original one-shot I wrote back in December, with a few minor corrections, so chapter 2 begins the next phase of the story. You might want to go ahead and re-read this though to remind yourself what happened. And one other thing-this was written before we knew that Jane sometimes lives in motel rooms, but I'm keeping the apartment details I wrote; hope you don't mind. Call it poetic license. Anyway, it's nice to revisit this time before everything went to hell in the finale.

**Episode Tag: **_**Jolly Red Elf**_** 3x10**

**Chapter 1: Red Nose**

"I'm not very home," said the intoxicated Patrick Jane, "could you take me drunk?"

Teresa Lisbon had never seen Jane take more than a polite sip of champagne, or of _any_ other alcoholic beverage ever offered him. So, seeing him now, drunk off his ass after putting himself through alcohol aversion therapy, was a totally new experience for her, and she witnessed his uncharacteristic lack of control with some amusement.

She helped him walk down the hall of the Wilder Alcohol Treatment Facility, allowing him to drape an arm around her shoulders so he could stay upright.

"You, know, Lisbon," he slurred into her left ear, "Shakespeare said drinking is a great provoker of three things."

"Oh really? Besides provoking annoyance in those who have to clean up the vomit the next morning?"

"You're funny. Anyone ever tell you you're funny? Well, I'm telling you now. Lisbon. You. Are. Funny." And he poked her shoulder after each word for emphasis.

She sighed, guiding him awkwardly out the clinic door and into the cool December night. He took a deep breath and stumbled a little, comically wide-eyed, and they both weaved to the right under his uncontrolled, heavy movements.

"Thank you, Jane," she grunted beneath his weight. "I find you to be pretty darn hilarious yourself right now."

He grinned, appreciating her sarcasm even while drunk.

"Anyway, what was I sayin'? Oh yeah, yeah—three things: a red nose, sleep, and urine."

"Nice. Is this your way of telling me you need to use the bathroom? Because there are nice bathrooms inside the clinic." Lisbon said, lips quirking.

"There you go again with that rapier wit of yours." He stopped abruptly, nearly causing them both to keel forward. "You know what, though, I _would_ like to use the little boy's room, if you don't mind."

She sighed again and turned them back toward the door. Unfortunately, it had locked behind them, likely on some sort of timer, this being the middle of the night and all. Rigsby and Van Pelt were still inside gathering evidence, while Cho had taken their nurse suspect back to CBI Headquarters. Lisbon pounded on the door, but no one came. And she'd left her cell phone in the surveillance van.

"Go behind those bushes, Jane. You are _not_ peeing in the car."

"Huh? Isn't that illegal? Exdescent inposure or something?"

"I'm not going to arrest you. I'll look the other way this time—literally. Now, go!" She disentangled his arm from her shoulders and gave him a little push toward the foliage. He stumbled again, this time falling to his hands and knees.

"Oopsie daisy!" He giggled a little and she ran to help him to his feet.

"Come on, you're not that drunk. How much could you have had?"

"I lost count after five shots. But I haven't had more than a mouthful of liquor at a time in eight years."

_Well, gee, no wonder, _thought Lisbon in understanding. Back on his feet, he wandered into the bushes and proceeded to do his business. She heard him struggling with his clothing, muttering to himself, then crying out, "Ouch!"

"What? Are you okay in there?"She moved hesitantly toward the bushes, not wanting to see anything she shouldn't, yet ready to help if he got into trouble.

"Cactus," he called. "Be careful of the cactus!"

She muffled her laughter with her hand. A few seconds later, and she heard him give a long moan of relief. She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot, wanting this day to be over for so many reasons. The death of Santa Claus did not get one in the holiday spirit.

Jane joined her a minute later, looking much…lighter.

"So, that takes care of the urine part of the drunken trinity," Lisbon said dryly. "Okay, let's get you home so you can sleep this off."

They had almost made it to the parking lot when they were waylaid by J.J. La Roche, the old pit-bull.

Against her better judgment, she let Jane stay and talk with the investigator. Jane's overconfident "I've got this" wasn't that reassuring, but she didn't want to be accused of obstructing an investigation, so she reluctantly left them. She realized as she stood waiting by the company SUV that maybe she should have stayed with him. Normally, Jane was the Fort Knox of secrets and hidden emotions, but from what she'd seen so far of drunk Jane, he just might feel relaxed enough to accidentally implicate himself somehow. So, she'd give them ten minutes, then she'd sneak back to see if he needed rescuing.

Five minutes later, La Roche passed by her with a cool nod on his way to his own car. Lisbon practically ran back to the picnic table where' she'd left him, wanting to yell at La Roche for leaving Jane alone in his condition.

He was slumped over on the table, head on his folded arms, out cold. She shook his shoulder.

"Jane! Wake up! You're too big for me to carry!"

"What? Oh. Lisbon. Sorry. I must have dozed off," he said groggily, looking up at her through bloodshot eyes.

_Well, there's the sleep Shakespeare had suggested._

She helped him up again and they made it to the black SUV. He climbed slowly in through the passenger side, and she buckled him in when he had trouble finding the end of the seatbelt.

"What did La Roche say," she asked casually, pulling out into light traffic.

"He wanted to know what secret information Todd Johnson wanted to give me before he died. I could only offer him conjec—conjec—a good guess."

"Really," she replied, unconvinced. Jane had been hiding things from her lately, and she didn't know exactly what, but she had felt him pulling into himself for months now. She felt a little guilty for trying to take advantage of his loose-lipped inebriation, but she knew Jane wasn't above hypnotizing others to get to the truth; how was this much different?

"So, what did Johnson want? I won't tell La Roche, that's for sure; he seems like he's gunning for you. That man creeps me out a little."  
"You too? He _is_ sort of a ghoul, don't you think? There was nothing to tell, Lisbon. You saw the guy after the fire. Burnt to a crisp."

"Fine. If you don't want to trust me—"

"I don't. I mean, I _do_ trust you, Lisbon. It's just, in this case, I don't have anything to entrust you with."

She didn't believe him for a minute, and she was surprised at the twinge of pain she felt that he was lying to her. It grew silent inside the darkened SUV as Lisbon stewed in her hurt feelings. Eventually, she heard Jane's deep breathing; he was out again.

At his apartment complex, Lisbon went around the vehicle to open his door. She shook him awake again.

"Are we there already?" He blinked several times in rapid succession. He was able to unbuckle himself and stepped out of the vehicle without falling, though his progress was infuriatingly slow.

She knew where he lived, of course, having picked him up or dropped him off after work on many occasions. She had never actually been inside, though. She knew he still held on to his other house, the one where his wife and child had been murdered, but she never questioned him about it. Knowing him, she was sure he kept it as some sort of penance, or a symbol for his need for revenge, along with the wedding band he still wore.

"Where are your keys, Jane?" She asked, stopping in front of the lower level apartment. He began checking all his pockets, starting with his suit coat, then his back pockets. He pulled them out of his right front pocket in triumph dangling them in front of her. He fumbled with them a minute until he found the right key, then tried in vain three times to fit it into the lock. Lisbon watched the performance with growing impatience.

"Here, let me," she said, taking the keys from his hand.

"I'm not incompetentated, Lisbon—"

"No, you're drunk. Manual dexterity is one of the first things to go."

"They teach that in cop school?"

"Yes. Drunken Consultants, 101."

He chuckled, then laughed and laughed, well out of proportion to her wry little quip. She opened his door and he leaned against the doorframe, laughing helplessly until tears were running down his cheeks.

"Ohhhh…Lisbon…you make me laugh,"he breathed, wiping his face with his hands.

"I can hear that. Come on inside before the rest of the block can hear it too." She propelled him forward into the apartment.

Jane's place was just as she'd imagined it—Spartan and functional. In the small living area, there was a beige couch, a lamp table with a beige lamp, and a small television on a stand by the window. No curtains, just beige window blinds that likely came with the place. There were no pictures or personal items anywhere. The streamlined kitchen had the basics—refrigerator, stove, sink, counter, cupboards. In the dish drainer by the sink was one cup, one saucer, one bowl and one spoon. A small wooden dining table just big enough for two, but with only one chair, sat in the breakfast nook.

"This is very…clean," she commented. "Would you like me to make you some tea?"

"No, I just want to go to bed. I'm awfully tired, and I'm suddenly feeling…a little… sick."One hand went to his stomach, the other to his head.

"Well, get to the bathroom before you throw up. You were lying to Wilder about not having eaten today, weren't you?"

"Yes," he said, covering his mouth and bolting for what she assumed was the facilities. 

Wanting to escape the sickening sounds of his heaving in the bathroom, she wandered to the last room of Jane's home. His bedroom was just as simple as the rest of the apartment. A full-sized bed with no headboard, neatly made with a tan down comforter lay next to one wall. A bedside table held a small lamp and a stack of books. She looked more closely and saw they were all poetry books, specifically by William Blake. A desk overtook another wall, with a closed laptop computer, printer, and desk lamp. The closet door was open to reveal a neat row of suits, many of them encased in clear dry-cleaning bags.

The detective in her itched to snoop some more, to rifle through drawers and open cabinets for some clue as to what made Patrick Jane tick. She'd like to think there was more to him than his desire for revenge. Given his obsession with Red John, she'd half-expected to find his walls covered with newspaper clippings and crime scene photos, but there was nothing to indicate that he was anything more than a simple man living in a simple apartment. Lisbon knew better than that, but she respected his privacy so she restrained herself and went out of his bedroom to stand outside the bathroom door.

"Are you alright in there? How about that tea now?"

"No—no tea. Oh, God. I forgot what this feels like. Do you have your gun on you? Shoot me," he moaned. "Shoot me now."

She smiled, remembering that feeling well from her college days.

She heard the toilet flushing, water running, then the sound of him gargling and brushing his teeth. The door finally opened and Jane emerged, sobered up some but looking like death warmed over.

"Let me help you to bed," she said softly. He'd stopped finding things so amusing now and made no suggestive comment, as she'd expected he would the minute she'd opened her mouth. On the contrary, he was suddenly very quiet. He leaned on her in gratitude, and she lowered him to sit on the bed, then clicked on the bedside lamp. He toed off his shoes and began unbuttoning his vest and shirt with trembling fingers. Lisbon pulled back the comforter and fluffed his pillow before turning back to a half-naked Patrick Jane. Her eyes were drawn to his smooth, well-shaped chest, and she felt herself blushing in spite of herself.

"Come on Undercover Man, let's get you under _these_ covers so you can sleep it off." She smiled gently at him, realizing just how much he must be suffering now in order to have nailed Nurse Bloom with murder.

Not bothering with removing his pants, he lay back with a sigh and slipped his legs beneath the sheets and comforter, then Lisbon pulled up the cover and tucked him in. She met his blue eyes, sparkling suddenly with humor.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Lisbon. This is really above and beyond…"

"Well, you really took one for the team, this time. Least I could do was make sure you didn't pass out on a street corner somewhere." She moved to take her leave, but he grabbed her hand to stop her. She started at the unfamiliar contact, and he smirked a little at her reaction.

He reached up with the other hand and took a lock of her silky hair between his fingers, then brought his glassy eyes to hers. Lisbon felt her heartbeat increase, and increase again when she realized he could likely feel her pulse beneath their clasped hands. She hoped he was too drunk to notice. But she couldn't move away with the way he was looking at her, his beautiful eyes so deep and soulful. He smiled at her, and the effect was complete.

"You'll make someone a good wife some day," he murmured, then pulled her down for a kiss.

_What am I doing?_ Lisbon asked herself, on the verge of panic. _He's drunk. He certainly doesn't know what __**he's**__ doing right now._

But his lips were soft and she had wondered about their softness for so long, that curiosity blended with excitement, and she let him tease her with his mouth. He pulled a little more on her hand, and before she knew it, she was lying on top of him, the comforter between them. Their breathing increased and Jane's hands began to wander. Their mouths opened and their tongues touched, swallowing each other's moans of pleasure. Lisbon wasn't so far gone, however, to not notice the progress of his hand. He slowly lowered it from her hair, to her throat, following the line of her collarbone just above her scoop-necked t-shirt. His finger traced her crucifix reverently, then lightly moved lower to touch the fabric above her breasts, while Lisbon's own hands fulfilled her fantasy of running through those wild blonde curls of his.

At the same time that he deepened the kiss even more, his hand snuck inside her top to cup her left breast through her bra. It was like someone had turned on his lust switch, for he went from gentle to frantic in one quick leap, and Lisbon suddenly wasn't having fun anymore. This was too much, too fast, and she turned her face away from him before he could do something they would both regret.

"Jane," she breathed. "Stop!"

"Oh, Lisbon," he groaned into her neck, not seeming to hear her, "you're so warm, and you smell so good." His hand tightened around her breast and she struggled to disentangle from his hold without hurting him or herself. In the process, she reared up, but he pulled her down again, and her elbow slipped and landed squarely on his nose.

"Damn!" he exclaimed in surprise, his hands forgetting about Lisbon in the face of the pain she'd inflicted. "What was that for?"

"I'm sorry. It was an accident." She got up from the bed and made sure she was standing just out of his reach, panting and shivering in aftershock.

Fortunately, his nose wasn't bleeding, but it was obviously throbbing beneath his hands.

"I'll go get you some ice. And some aspirin," she said as an afterthought. She beat a hasty retreat, feeling frazzled and embarrassed by what she had let him do. His drinking explained why he'd succumbed, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of a logical explanation why she'd allowed it to happen. She was supposed to be the sober one, the friend that didn't let the friend drive drunk or do anything else stupid while intoxicated. Some friend she was.

Opening a drawer in the kitchen, she found a dish towel and filled it with ice from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, then twisted the top to make an ice pack. Moving to the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of aspirin. Another trip to the kitchen for a glass of water, and she felt she'd calmed down enough to face what she had done. She took a deep breath, then made her way back to Jane's bedroom.

Jane was right where she'd left him, sitting up against the wall, but he was passed out completely, his snoring muffled by the hand still clutching his nose. She set down the items she'd brought and surveyed her sexy consultant. She smiled, reaching gingerly to remove his hand, then settling his head back down to the pillow so he wouldn't awaken with a crick in his neck. He was gorgeous, and this wasn't the first time she'd noticed. But now she knew how those full lips felt, how warm his hands were, how even through the covers between them she somehow knew how well they'd fit together. She shivered anew just thinking about it. They were friends, of course, but this brief interlude opened the door to the possibility of them being so much more. It was scary, and it was against regulations, but God help her, she wanted to explore it when they were both sober. She only hoped she felt the same way come Monday.

His nose was bright red and seemed to be pulsing, and she grinned, thinking Shakespeare had it right, after all. Red nose, sleep, and urine. If she remembered high school English correctly, that speech from _MacBeth_ also mentioned desire and lechery. Well, the Bard's words certainly summed up this entire crazy night for them. She leaned down to peck him lightly on the nose, then touched her lips to his in a goodnight kiss. He smacked his lips together in sleep, reaching up to brush at his nose in agitation. She smiled again, turned off the lamp, and picked up the ice pack to empty in the kitchen sink. She left the aspirin there for the morning when she was sure he was going to need it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke the next morning, hung over and disoriented.

"Why is the bed spinning?" he said aloud, his eyes still closed.

His alarm must have been buzzing for at least an hour, and he finally reached over to slam it off. At first he thought he was late for work-not really a big deal to him, but he knew it mattered to Lisbon and Hightower. Then he remembered that it was Saturday, and that he had set up a lunch appointment with May Nelson and Virgil Minelli. He couldn't miss that. Virgil might have La Roche's suspect list, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to play matchmaker for two such nice, lonely people.

The last thing he remembered from the night before was getting into Lisbon's car. After that, everything was a blank. Well, he was obviously home, and he grinned, then flinched as the movement hurt his head. It must have been quite a show, her trying to wrangle him into his apartment and into bed. He felt his chest, realizing she'd likely helped him take off his shirt. He wished he could have remembered the feel of her hands on his bare skin; the thought of it did weird things to his already shaky insides. He hoped he hadn't done anything to embarrass himself or to piss her off.

"I'll certainly be hearing about it Monday if I did." His eyes went blearily to the clock—half past ten—then to the aspirin and glass of water Lisbon had helpfully left for him. "Good ol' Lisbon," he said, sitting up a little to take his medicine. The water hitting his system made him feel a little drunk again, so he lay back down on the bed with a moan.

"A shower. That's what I need. A shower, and some tea and toast. Nothing a good cup of tea can't cure."

As he got up, more slowly this time, he thought he caught the faint scent of Lisbon's perfume on his comforter. He picked it up and inhaled, but the smell eluded him. He shrugged. _Probably just my imagination. Or wishful thinking._

A few minutes later, as the hot water poured down over his pounding head, he ruminated over why he never drank anymore. The blackouts. He had always been especially prone to blackouts. Had to keep his wits these days, but also, he knew that if he started drinking again, it would be so tempting to climb into a bottle and never climb back out.

_The doctor's aversion therapy definitely works, though, _Jane thought ironically. _ I never want to taste another drop of whiskey as long as I live._


	2. Monday, Monday

A/N: So, here it is, as promised, the continuation of my long-ago one-shot. You might want to go back and read chapter 1, which is the original tag, to refresh your memory. This picks up the Monday after Jane's drunken pass at Lisbon. Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**: **Monday, Monday**

Monday morning in the CBI HQ found the Serious Crimes Unit busily finishing up the reports for the Nurse Bloom arrest.

"Boy, Jane was sure smashed Friday night," Rigsby said conversationally between bites of cruller.

"I've never really seen him drink before," added Van Pelt. "He seemed like a happy drunk. I figured he would be one of those dark and tortured drunks, given his history."

"No, that's Cho," said Rigsby. "Or should I say, Mr. Morose."

"You've never seen me drunk," Cho countered in his usual monotone.

"I've seen you knock a few back. You become even quieter than usual."

Cho just shook his head and began typing in earnest, a small smile hovering about his lips. In fact, the last time he'd allowed himself to lose control enough to get drunk, he'd sung "YMCA" at a Karaoke bar and took two waitresses back home with him for an encounter that even now made his stomach clench with remembered desire. But that was long before he'd met Rigsby, and Cho didn't think his partner would be able to handle that particular tale.

It was at that moment that Patrick Jane made his grand entrance, his usual pleasant morning grin lighting the room. Van Pelt could never stop herself from smiling in return.

"Morning, Grace. How was your weekend?"

"Oh, it was great! Craig and I went to Napa and stayed at the sweetest B and B."

Jane didn't have to look to feel Rigsby tense up and focus with exaggerated gusto on his own report.

"Sounds lovely," Jane said, meaning it. He glanced at the two men. "Gentlemen," he said by way of greeting, and received a chorus of "Jane," in return. He looked toward Lisbon's office, noting that the blinds were closed.

"Lisbon here yet?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think she's in a meeting with LaRoche," Van Pelt supplied helpfully. Jane nodded his thanks and made his way toward her office to wait. He planned to thank Lisbon for helping him home and apparently tucking him in. He also was hoping she'd fill in some of the blanks from the blackout he'd experienced. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed out on something important, and he hoped she wasn't too angry to tell him.

They'd exchanged texts Saturday afternoon, but it had been terse and impersonal.

_R U OK?_

_Fine. Head aches._

_Sorry._

And that had been it. She hadn't replied to any of his other texts or calls, which had only confirmed that she was uncomfortable with something he'd done. He'd contemplated going by her apartment, or even coming in to HQ, but he decided he'd wait and see if he remembered Friday night on his own. As of that morning, he had not, and he'd experienced enough blackouts to know that he would have to write it off as lost time.

He entered her empty office, surveying the neat stacks of paper on her desk, the large white couch that looked by the rumpled blanket and haphazard throw pillows that it had been recently slept on. Absently, he picked up the blanket and began to fold it. If Jane were totally honest with himself, he was a little afraid to see her. But it was Monday now, and the last thing he wanted was for things to be uncomfortable or tense between them. He valued their working relationship above all others, and he was willing to swallow some pride and face her so they could get back to normal, or their version of such.

He'd just settled onto Lisbon's now neatly arranged couch when she entered through the office door he'd purposefully left open; it was never a good idea to take a cop by surprise. She came up short when she saw him, and a telltale blush stole over her pretty face, her full mug of coffee sloshing dangerously against the sides. Her eyes brushed fleetingly over his features, no doubt taking in the slight blackening beneath his eyes which he figured was a byproduct of his aching nose. Her blush deepened even more at the sight. His sore nose was another mystery he hadn't been able to decipher; all he knew was that it had felt suspiciously like all the times he'd been punched in that location. Her eyes skittered away from his, and she covered her awkwardness by sitting in her chair, setting down her steaming cup, and getting right to work, her dark hair falling forward over her pink cheeks.

Jane's mouth went dry, and he felt the unfamiliar heat in his own face. He swallowed.

_This was bad._

"Good morning, Lisbon," he said brightly, hoping to set them both at ease by acting normal. "How was your weekend?"

"Fine," she said. So they were back to terse.

Jane stared at her, trying to use all of his skills of observation to figure out what was going on in that mysterious brain of hers. That she was embarrassed by his presence was painfully obvious. It was the why that bothered him. _Well,_ he thought, _at least she's not angry. _But anger was an emotion of Lisbon's that he was familiar with, that he knew how to handle. This discomfiture was another matter entirely. It was one thing if he'd intentionally made her blush, like when he pretended to read her mind or bought her unexpected, extravagant gifts. It was quite another when he had no idea what he'd done to cause it.

"Well, I just wanted to thank you for driving me home Friday night. I was pretty out of it."

"You're welcome," she said, eyes still on the computer screen. Jane sighed, deciding there was no other way to get past this than to just rip off the Band-Aid.

"So, what exactly did I do to make you so uncomfortable, Lisbon? Did I dance on any tables? Do a strip tease in the parking lot?"

Her eyes flew to his. "You uh, don't remember anything?"

"No."

Instantly, he caught the relief on her face, and she genuinely laughed. "No, nothing like that. You uh, relieved yourself in a cactus bush, but other than that, you were just a more giggly version of yourself."

_Cactus, eh?_ He shifted uncomfortably. Well, that explained that particular mystery he'd discovered first thing Saturday morning. Then a mortifying thought occurred to him.

"You didn't see, uh—"

"No," she replied quickly. "I didn't see anything at all. You were in the bushes."

Jane's eyes narrowed. She was hiding something. "What else did I do?"

"Nothing. I got you home, helped you into bed, left you some aspirin, and then I left. End of story."

"You're lying, Teresa."

She shrugged innocently. "Well, you did throw up in your bathroom, but that's about it."

"Any idea why my nose throbs like it was on the other end of one of your famous right hooks?"

As good as she was at hiding her thoughts, Lisbon hadn't mastered the art of biofeedback where her blushes were concerned. "You ran into a door," she said quickly, reaching down to take a shaky sip of her coffee.

"You're lying," he repeated softly. "You should know better than that with me."

"I told you everything important that happened, Jane. I guess you'll just have to take my word for it." She faced him boldly now, confident that he hadn't been toying with her, that he truly had no memory of what had transpired that night. Jane was surprised at his sudden anger. As hypocritical as it was coming from him, he hated when important information was kept from him.

"If you're hiding something from me, I'll figure it out eventually. I was hired to sniff out the guilty parties, remember? And I'll do it in this case too, even if the guilty one turns out to be me."

She was startled at his outburst, but anger was an emotion she understood too. Her eyes went cold, and she regarded him warily. "Be careful what you wish for, Jane. Now, if you'll excuse me, these reports are due by two." She nodded toward the door, and he realized he was being dismissed like a punished child sent home from the principal's office. Jane rose from the couch and stalked out of her office, marching to the bullpen past the curious gazes of his colleagues.

He practically threw himself down on his own couch, laying flat and closing his eyes in consternation, effectively shutting himself off from any prying questions. His three teammates looked at each other in surprise, wondering how in the world a five minute conversation with the boss could have made Jane so put out. But put out he was, and they all figured it was best they not disturb him in this mood. They only saw him this way when Red John was a factor, and it occurred to them that maybe Lisbon had given him some new information that had brought up his ire. Each of them expected their boss to come out of her office at any moment and give them the bad news, but several minutes elapsed with no sign of her, so they relaxed and became caught up again in their work.

Jane lay still, willing his heartbeat to slow and his anger to abate. When he was much calmer, he began to analyze his overreaction to Lisbon's lies. He supposed he was hurt more than anything. He thought they were closer than that, friends even. Maybe even _best _friends. If he had done something untoward, he had a right to know, didn't he? If only so he could mend things between them. But she seemed satisfied that he'd forgotten the incident. No, he amended. _Relieved_ was the better word.

Then her warning began to sink in. _Be careful what you wish for. _

Now what the hell could she have meant by that? Was what he'd done so terrible that he should be glad he couldn't remember? No way. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. Jane was promptly thrown into familiar obsession mode. He had to know or it would haunt him forever. He considered self-hypnosis, but he had never been able to do it effectively. He was too aware, too conscious of himself to get to that state where he could let everything go and delve into his hidden psyche. Frankly, the idea scared him a little; what he knew of his own psyche was terrifying. He could bring himself to a state of extreme relaxation, but his pain and depression ran too deep for him to help himself. He'd tried more times than he could count to make himself forget, so he very much doubted he could find a way to make himself remember.

While self-hypnosis was out, he did have another option, and as the idea took hold, a grin overtook his face, and he felt himself relaxing at the thought. While _he _might not be susceptible to hypnosis, he knew a certain petite brunette who was highly suggestible, given the right setting and technique. He'd done it before. Jane had no doubt he'd be able to do it again.

_Okay, Teresa. If you won't tell me the truth, I have ways of making you talk. _

As he contemplated this idea, hashed out the details of his plan, the morning slipped by swiftly, and he even snuck in a brief nap.

A/N: Be careful what you wish for, indeed, Jane. Hope you like this new beginning. Next up, Lisbon's reaction to Jane's reaction. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Hypnotized

A/N: I'm so happy people are glad to see me continuing this. I will think of a better title than "Episode Tag" soon, but I didn't want to confuse anybody with the new title. I apologize for being behind in replying to your reviews; I'll get to them very soon, I promise. Please trust that I'm reading them with much delight and appreciation, and I've been so busy writing two stories at once (still!) that I sometimes lose track of time. I hope this chapter helps you to forgive me .

**Chapter 3: Hypnotized**

After Jane left her office, Lisbon sat still for a moment, in shock at his angry reaction. She certainly understood what it was like to forget things that she knew were important, and she remembered those feelings of helplessness, anger and fear. Jane's reaction seemed out of proportion to what actually had happened, however, because really, it wasn't as if he'd been accused of murdering someone. She supposed she could have just put him out of his misery, told him he'd made a pass at her, laugh it off as a drunken mistake, and they could just get on with their lives. But for Lisbon, she found it hard to think of their brief moments of intimacy as a mistake, and she wouldn't be getting over the feeling of his warm hands on her body, his full, soft lips on hers anytime soon. It would break her heart if she found it had meant nothing to him.

Her bravado about pursuing whatever had erupted between them had calmed considerably since Friday night, and she'd spent the weekend vacillating between calling him to talk about it and keeping it casual by never mentioning it again. When she'd texted him, he hadn't replied with a message of apology or a "we need to talk." So Agent Teresa Lisbon, hard ass CBI team leader, had been too afraid to pick up the phone when he called later. She'd listened to his voice messages, which gave no clue that he'd even remembered what they had done together.

By Monday morning, her nerves were frayed, she felt tense and snappy, and when she'd found Jane in her office she had to tamp down the urge to run in the opposite direction. The moment she'd dreaded had arrived, and she wondered if their meeting would end in her humiliation or his. Turns out, it was neither of them, for he had, in fact, blocked the entire incident out. She was relieved beyond measure, and was suddenly satisfied to bear the burden of the sensual memories all on her own.

_Chicken, _she said to herself. But Lisbon was all for the status quo, and once Jane got over his obsession—her hands flew to her cheeks in sudden realization. Who was she kidding? Jane _never_ got over obsessions. Obsession ruled his life. By not being straight with him, she'd doomed both of them to a possible eternity of his dogged pursuit of the truth. He would not give this up. She rose and went for her door, determined now to swallow her pride and possible hurt and try to salvage what dignity she had after she admitted what had happened.

She peaked out the window and saw her team hard at work, and Jane sleeping peacefully on his couch, and small smile on those soft lips of his. She groaned to herself in frustration. She'd have to wait until she could talk to him alone, could pull him aside without her colleagues becoming too curious. Resigned to more waiting, Lisbon sat back at her desk, forcing herself to finish those damnable reports.

Xxxxxxxxx

At lunchtime, the office had cleared out, and there was even no sign of Jane. She checked his attic hideaway, the stairwell, the rooftop snack bar—but he was nowhere to be found. She looked out the window at the parking lot, and saw no light blue Citroen in its usual spot. When he hadn't returned after lunch she figured he was gone for the day, and since they were currently without a case, it was not unlike Jane to skip out when things were too slow and boring for him. Nobody questioned his unpredictable comings and goings anymore.

She actually left HQ at a decent hour that evening, and decided Chinese take-out and the carton of brownie chunk ice cream in her freezer were calling her name. She had just changed into something more comfortable when a knock came at the door. She looked through the peephole, and was floored to see none other than her errant consultant darkening her doorstep.

"It's me, Lisbon," he was saying. "Open up."

She took a few deep breaths to try to compose herself, wishing without much hope that her cheeks weren't flushed with embarrassment at his presence. She opened the door.

Jane's eyes widened at the vision she made in her doorway. She was wearing a white tank top and plaid sleep pants, and he tried to ignore the firm, yet delicate muscles of her bare arms, the dainty bones of her clavicle, or the unexpected sweetness of her tiny, bare feet. His eyes skimmed back up her figure, past the gently rounded hips and slim waist, the soft swell of her breasts—he swallowed—and followed the track of her lovely neck, left bare except for a few chocolate wisps of hair that had escaped her messy updo. He realized he'd been standing there ogling her body for an inordinate amount of time, and he sheepishly met her green gaze with a grin. He shrugged. He was a man, after all.

"What do you want, Jane?" she asked coldly, but her tone belied the warm flush of her cheeks.

From behind his back he brought a bottle of chardonnay. "A peace offering, to make up for my rudeness earlier."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Jane rarely admitted to being rude, although it was a frequent enough occurrence. "Isn't alcohol a little ironic?" she asked, remembering that his imbibing was what had caused all the trouble in the first place.

He chuckled. "Maybe. But at least it's not whiskey." He shuttered, reliving his Saturday hangover. "You gonna let me in? It's a little chilly out here, and I think it's going to rain."

"Why not," she muttered, stepping aside to let him enter. With one glance, he'd quickly appraised her apartment, noting that nothing much had changed since he'd been there a year before. She was a creature of habit, his Lisbon, so the aroma of take-out food was no surprise either.

"I was about to eat some chow mein. You want some?"

"Sure. It'll go great with the wine."

She said nothing to that, but went to her kitchen cabinet and brought out two plates and two wine glasses. She laid out the cheap bamboo chopsticks that had come with the meal and she nodded toward the living room couch. They'd be dining casually, he saw, as he'd made himself at home, rooting through a likely drawer for the corkscrew. She brought plates and napkins to the coffee table and he joined her with the glasses. Neither of them had said a word.

"So anyway," he began as if picking up on an earlier conversation. "I'm sorry for getting angry this morning. You know how I am when I feel like I'm being kept out of the loop."

She smiled a little, his words exactly coinciding with her previous thoughts on the matter. "Yes. But like I told you, nothing important happened. You don't need to worry that you offended me or did anything untoward. Now, can we please just stop talking about it? Let's eat our dinner and get on with our lives."

He watched as she expertly picked up a water chestnut with her chopsticks, bringing it to her mouth and biting into the crunchy vegetable. When her tongue reached out to lick her lips, he unexpectedly felt a jolt in the region of his groin. She immediately went for a piece of chicken, and he watched her, holding his own chopsticks limply in one hand. _Who was hypnotizing whom, here?_

He shook his head a little to clear it. He rarely thought of Lisbon in a sexual way, yet suddenly, this evening, things felt somehow different between them. It wasn't as if he'd never noticed how beautiful she was, how pleasing her figure, but she was _Lisbon_, for God's sake. His _boss_, for all intents and purposes. True, there had been little moments of awareness between them over the years, times when they'd comforted each other with a hug, a look, a laugh. It was the nature of the beast for a male/female friendship between two attractive people to be a little complicated or confusing at times, but Jane valued their relationship enough to try to forget how green her eyes were, or how she filled out her slim-fitting jeans in a very pleasing way. He wondered now why he seemed to be dwelling on her physicality all of a sudden.

"Something wrong with your food?" she asked, noticing he hadn't taken a bite.

"Oh, no. I was just…thinking." He hastily picked up a leaf of bok choy, then reached for his wine.

She smirked. "Should I be worried?"

He barely concealed his startled reaction with a grin. "No, of course not. I guess the point of this visit was not just to apologize, but to explain. I don't drink much, like I told you. The main reason is because it messes with one's judgment, inhibits the ability to see certain…nuances. You can see with my job how that would be a bad thing. But also, if I drink too much…I'm prone to…blackouts."

Lisbon nodded in understanding. She looked for a moment like she wanted to tell him something, but her facial expression abruptly shifted gears, and he could tell she'd made up her mind about whatever it was.

"I blacked out once when I was in college after a party. It was a very disconcerting experience, especially when I found some clues that I hadn't been quite myself during those missing hours."

Intrigued, Jane moved closer, momentarily distracted by the electricity he felt when their knees touched. "What kind of, uh, clues?"

She blushed. "It's too embarrassing."

"Hey, you just witnessed some of my embarrassing moments under the influence. Take pity on me and share some of yours."  
She supposed she owed him that much, she thought guiltily, given how she was lying to him by omission. She'd lost the courage again to confess, deciding that she was going to chalk this up to "one of those things."

"Well, I guess my first clue was waking up with a naked stranger in my bed."

Jane nearly choked on his Chinese. He took a gulp of wine and coughed some more. Lisbon grinned as he recovered. "The second clue was the naked man in my bathtub."

"What the hell kind of parties did you go to in college?" he said hoarsely, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

She laughed. "That kind I only went to once. I blame the tequila." She toasted him a little with her wine.

"Note to self," Jane said in amusement. "Tequila makes Lisbon's clothes come off."

She grinned. "No, just my dates'."

They continued to small talk, Jane keeping things light and calm, easing her into relaxation mode, prepping her for his foray into her mind's well of secrets. Finally, Lisbon set her plate on the table, leaning back into the overstuffed couch with a sigh. Her eyes regarded Jane's lazily, and his empty plate joined hers. Her belly was full, her wine glass empty for the second time. She was completely at ease and comfortable. Jane lay against the cushions too, realizing he'd reached the opportune moment. He turned his head to look at her.

"I bet you're tired after a long day of boring paperwork," he said, his voice dropping soothingly.

"Nothing unusual about that," she said, stifling a yawn. "Oh…excuse me. It's not the company, I promise."

"Glad to hear that," he grinned. "Why don't you just close your eyes and relax. Your day is done, no more paperwork. It's all safely in your outbox. You can rest now, Teresa. Listen…it's raining. You can hear it pattering against the window. It's almost like you can hear each individual drop. Isn't it soothing? Just listen to the tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…"

He looked closely at her face, at her body. She'd fallen into a light trance. "Teresa?"

"Hmmm?"

"I want you to think about Friday night, when you helped me into my apartment."

"You're drunk," she murmured. "I've never seen you drunk before. It makes me uncomfortable. I hated it when my father drank."

"Yes, I know. But I'm not like your father when I'm drunk, am I?"

She shook her head. "No. You're…funny. Cute. Loud." She made a face. "You're puking your guts out in the bathroom. Boy, are you gonna be hungover in the morning." She actually smiled at that, the little minx.

"Yeah," he said wryly. "Now, what happens after I leave the bathroom?"

"I help you into your bedroom and you start undressing."

"Oh really?" he asked, feeling the first strains of embarrassment. _She _hadn't been the one to remove his clothes, like he'd first thought.

"You take off your vest and your shirt. I've never seen you without a shirt before. How can you be so ripped when I never see you work out?"

"Must just be genetics," he said. Of course, he wouldn't tell her about the thirty minutes of crunches and other calisthenics he did each morning, or the miles of aimless walking he did on the nice nights when he couldn't sleep. If he was going to catch Red John some day, he had to keep his body as well as his mind in shape.

"Okay, my shirt is off. What then?"

She smiled, and her breathing suddenly increased. "I help you into bed and you touch my hair, and reach for my hand."

He gulped, nervous about where this seemed to be heading, but unable to stop her talking even if his life depended on it.

"You pull me down on the bed on top of you and suddenly you…you…you're kissing me. Oh, my God. Your lips are so luscious—I always wondered—where did you learn how to kiss like that? Your skin feels so good, so smooth. I'm getting so hot and I feel like I can't breathe. Your hair—it's just as soft as I imagined it. Oh, God, your hand's on my breast...I feel like I'm gonna hyperventilate!" By then the harsh sound of her short, panting breaths filled the room, and Jane felt himself harden at her sensual description. Lisbon's raspy voice was accelerating his pulse, and he felt himself shaking in reaction. It was like listening to someone reading erotica; only, he apparently, was the star.

"Go on," he prompted, barely above a trembling whisper.

"Your hands are everywhere—you're like an octopus! I don't want this now, not like this—everything is happening too fast!"

_Oh, my God, did I-?_

"No!" she cried. Jane's stomach dropped with dread. But then she said, "I think I broke your nose!"

"What?"

"I accidentally elbowed you in the nose! Well, at least it's not bleeding. I should get some ice."

"Okay, okay, Teresa, calm down."

She did so immediately, her breathing slowing, her body relaxing. He breathed with her, trying to calm himself by matching her inhalations.

"So, you hurt my nose. Then what happened?"

"I can't believe I let you do that. Where the hell did that come from? I mean, I know you're sexy and all, but—"

"You think I'm sexy?" he couldn't resist asking.

"Dear Lord, have you not looked at yourself? That hair, those eyes, that smile, that ass…"

_Why, Agent Lisbon, such naughty thoughts._

He cleared his throat. "Okay, so you're having second thoughts about kissing me?"

"No, not at all. I'd like to see where this goes, once you're sober. But it's against regulations. And I'm scared of getting hurt. You're so obsessed with Red John and your dead wife, you don't even seem to see me."

"I see you, Teresa," he said softly. "Did anything else happen between us?" he continued, trying to get things back on track.

"No. I get back with the ice pack and you're out cold. I kiss you and leave the aspirin. Then I went home and ate a carton of chocolate mint ice cream."

Jane sighed. He'd heard enough—more than enough. _No wonder she didn't want to tell me this. Holy shit, I'm not sure if I really wanted to hear it._

He regarded her still form, knowing that he needed time to process what he'd learned, but at the same time fighting the desire to run out of here and hide from it. He was shaken to his core, confused beyond belief at what he'd done with her. He knew that when people's inhibitions were down, especially because of alcohol, their true feelings sometimes emerged. Had he been suppressing his emotions where Lisbon was concerned? He didn't know. Maybe the years of celibacy had finally caught up with him, and she was just the first warm body to cross his path. But no, that didn't sound right either.

"Okay, Teresa, you're going to wake up now as if you simply fell asleep a moment on the couch. You'll have no memory that I hypnotized you. So, when I tap your arm—"

He hesitated a moment before bringing her out of her trance. He simply couldn't resist passing up such a golden opportunity, having her under his power and completely susceptible to his wishes. There was a little bit of the devil in Patrick Jane, and he blamed that wickedness for what he was about to do.

"From now on, whenever you think about kissing me, you'll blink your eyes twice in succession. Understand?"

"Yes," she replied dully, blinking her eyes just as he'd suggested. "All right, good." He reached out and gently tapped her upper arm, resisting the urge to caress her after he did it.

Lisbon opened her eyes, slightly disoriented. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I go to sleep on you?"

He smiled, and his heart sped up at her apologetic and slightly self-conscious expression. She was so adorable sometimes.

"It's all right. You're tired and had two glasses of wine. I'll go and let you get some real sleep."

They both rose and she walked him to the door. "Jane, are we okay?"

He smiled gently at her. "We're fine, Lisbon. Let's just forget about Friday, okay? Apparently I already have."

She returned his smile, her dimples appearing disarmingly. "Well, see you tomorrow." She blushed a little, and blinked. Twice.

His grin widened. "Thanks for dinner." She opened the door to the pouring rain.

"You want to borrow an umbrella?" she asked, having to raise her voice to be heard over the downpour.

He laughed. "Not a chance! I love the rain! Good night, Lisbon!" With a final grin of pure happiness, he ran out into the deluge, and she could hear his cries of delight as he ran to avoid the puddles.

"Thanks for the wine! Be careful!" she called, but she didn't think he heard her.

A/N: Now the playing field is a little more even, don't you think? Please log in and review, and I promise to love you eternally.

And by the way, if you are interested in such things, there are some spoilers and even the first pictures from Season 4 out there. My link is apparently not going through, so do a search for redblog and hopefully you can find it easily. If not, just message me and I'll send you a link.


	4. Other Shrimp in the Sea

A/N: You might have noticed I've re-named this story, mainly because it has gone beyond a tag to a full-length fic. "Red Garland" it is (and this chapter should explain the title). Thanks for all those who are reading and reviewing. It's like Christmas in August .

**Chapter 4: Other Shrimp in the Sea**

The following morning found Grace Van Pelt decorating the bullpen for Christmas. It was five days until Christmas Eve, and she'd gotten the go-ahead the day before from Lisbon to put up some tasteful garland and a small tree in an unobtrusive corner. Jane entered the bullpen to find the young agent standing on a ladder, struggling to grab the red tinsel she'd dropped without having to climb down.

"Whoa!" Jane said, trying to prevent an accident. "Here, let me get that before you fall and break your neck or something else equally valuable."

Grace grinned, gratefully accepting his help. "Thanks. I was trying to get this done before everyone else arrived."

Jane surveyed the room, the tasteful but festive red and gold theme enlivening the usually bland office space.

"Well, it looks very nice. Lisbon must have been humoring you."

Grace stepped down, having attached the last end of draping garland above the door. "Really? How so?"

"Our fearless leader is a Grinch, I've discovered. No Christmas decorations for Teresa Lisbon. She hates the commercialism."

Grace looked around, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "You think I should take it down?"

"Not at all. It looks lovely. Very…Christmasy."

Her smile returned, and Jane helped her fold the ladder and set it where the custodian could retrieve it in the hallway.

"I take it you like Christmas?"

Jane shrugged. "I used to." Grace knew better than to pry further. All celebrations had likely stopped for Jane the moment he'd found his family dead.

"Are you going to the CBI party tonight? You should, you know; you never go to those things."

"Meh. It's no fun watching your colleagues get plastered."

Grace smirked, recalling Jane's recent undercover job. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

He grinned sheepishly. "I think I've proven my point." He thought a moment. "Lisbon usually goes doesn't she?"

"Yeah," she replied, straightening the golden angel atop the tree. "But she doesn't stay too long; just comes for appearances' sake. She'll have a drink or two, say hello to everyone, and vanish. You both are party poopers."

"Hmmm…Do you know if Rigsby and Cho are going?" Jane normally couldn't care less about the party or who might be there. But this year, the idea of an afterhours party with Lisbon suddenly seemed oddly appealing. He'd only asked about their other colleagues so Van Pelt wouldn't think he was considering attending merely because of Lisbon. He didn't want Van Pelt plotting to play cupid.

"Sure they'll be there,"Grace was saying. "There's free booze and shrimp, isn't there? And I've invited Craig to come with me, so it will be nice to have a date for a change. Why don't you come? It'll be fun." She wanted to say that it would be good for him, but she restrained herself in favor of pleading brown eyes.

He gave her a smile of the mega-watt variety. "You've talked me into it."

She blushed a little. "Really? Great!"

At that moment Cho and Rigsby arrived, lidded paper coffee cups in hand. They stopped and inspected the bullpen much the same as Jane had moments before.

"Looks like Santa Claus threw up in here," Rigsby said, trying to be funny.

"Hey!" Van Pelt protested, shooting an angry glare at her former lover.

"I'm just kidding. You did a great job, Grace."

"Looks nice," said Cho politely. Grace childishly stuck out her tongue at Rigsby.

"Thanks, Cho," she replied, her happy mood returning.

The four teammates took their usual morning places, three of them digging into their work in anticipation of their boss's arrival, while Jane settled in for his morning nap. Lisbon entered soon after with a business-like call of _good morning_ and a nod to Grace's redecorating. The redhead beamed. Jane felt Lisbon's eyes alight on him and he looked up to find to his surprise that his heart had sped up at the sight of her, noting how her lovely hair was hanging in its natural wave for the first time in awhile—his favorite way she wore it. She probably had been running late this morning and hadn't had time to straighten it. An olive colored t-shirt peeped from beneath her black blazer jacket, bringing out eyes that double blinked the moment green met blue.

A slow smile spread across Jane's face, at the very rate at which the blush stole over Lisbon's. He of course didn't consider himself a psychic, but he was amazed at how powerful he felt when, in the space of two blinks of an eye, he knew beyond a doubt exactly what Teresa Lisbon was thinking. She looked hurriedly away and said noncommittally, "Well…" before turning abruptly and leaving the bullpen.

The trio of remaining agents looked from Lisbon's awkward departure back to Jane. Something was definitely up between the two of them, and Jane quickly schooled his expression lest he give something away that had its roots in Friday night. He closed his eyes and waited until the tapping of keyboards resumed, then he took a moment to analyze what had just happened.

_What the hell __**was**__ that?_

His increased pulse rate? His blatant appraisal of her hair, her clothing, her flushing cheeks? True, he normally noticed everything, but what was with his sudden shift in attitude and reaction to her appearance, to her very presence? It wasn't like him. It hearkened back to masculine feelings long since buried with his wife and child, and it scared him to death. It was one thing to have fun with the suggestion he'd planted in Lisbon's subconscious; it was quite another to have the uncanny feeling that someone had planted a new suggestion in his.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The annual CBI Christmas party was held in the rented ballroom of a downtown hotel. The decorations weren't nearly as tasteful as Graces' back at HQ, but the open bar somewhat made up for it, as did the bountiful table of hors d'oeuvres. Holiday music and multicolored Christmas lights added to the tacky ambiance, and the agents, most of them still in office attire, milled around and chatted, drinks in hand. Lisbon sat at the bar, nursing her white wine, thinking about the strangeness of the past several days. There had been an unfamiliar tension between Jane and her, and while she understood why _she_ felt uncomfortable, she had no idea why Jane would. He'd blacked out the events of last Friday, hadn't he?

She felt her eyes blinking and twitching just at the thought of it. _Damn nerves._ _If Jane knew about what we'd done, he would have been apologizing profusely. No way he remembers it. No way._

She took another sip of wine and comforted herself with her reasoning. She chatted with a few of her acquaintances from Witness Protection and nodded to Hightower from across the room. Lisbon wondered as she always did if enough time had passed that she'd fulfilled her obligation. She hated these things. They weren't fun unless you liked tinsel, gossip, and _Jingle Bell Rock._ At least the wine was good.

Ten minutes later, she heaved a quiet sigh and excused herself from her coworkers, preparing to make a quiet exit. As she made her way to the door, her small stature was swallowed up by the crowd, and she momentarily lost sight of the door. So it was with some surprise that she felt a pair of warm hands on her arms, just preventing her from smacking into the rest of the man's body. She looked up to see that the man in question was none other than Patrick Jane. She felt her jaw drop in surprise, and the image of her own hands on his bare chest, his lips on hers, flashed unbidden in her mind, and she blinked unconsciously. She tried to focus on the here and now, observing that he'd changed dress shirts—neatly pressed for a change—but had dispensed with his vest. He looked oddly underdressed without it, but at the same time, the blue suit coat made him seem more elegant somehow.

"You leaving Lisbon?" came his soothing voice above the strains of _White Christmas. _"I just got here."

"Uh, yeah. What are _you _doing here?"

"I thought everyone from the CBI was invited to this little soiree," he said in amusement, deducing correctly that her rudeness was because she was taken off guard by his unexpected appearance.

She blushed. "Of course. I mean, I've never seen you at one of these things before. I'm just…surprised."

Jane shrugged, releasing her arms. "Just thought I'd see what all the fuss was about." His sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the glittering surroundings with much the same disdain that Lisbon had. "I see there was truly much ado about nothing."

Lisbon grinned at his light sarcasm.

"Well, now that I'm here," he continued, "could you at least stay a while longer? I'm afraid to be alone in here; the Ghost of Christmas Kitsch is surely haunting the place."

Lisbon looked at the door, then back at Jane, and suddenly it no longer seemed imperative she make her escape.

"Okay. Maybe a little longer. But if I eat another shrimp, I might have to swim my way out of here."

He chuckled and they made their way back through the throng, Jane having to stop frequently along the way to greet acquaintances from various departments. Sometimes he took her arm to guide her, other times, a heated palm rested on her lower back. Lisbon tried not to shiver at his touch.

As they travelled, Lisbon was amused to see that every woman in the ballroom focused on the legendary consultant, known in feminine circles not only for his amazing crime solving abilities, but especially for his movie star good looks that made even the most hardboiled female agent's heart skip a beat. Tonight, Lisbon was no exception.

They made it back to the bar at last, and Jane ordered a club soda. Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, and O'laughlin converged upon them, truly thrilled that Jane had appeared to liven things up. The men shook hands and Jane kissed Van Pelt's cheek warmly.

"I'm so glad you came," she whispered happily, clearly in her element.

"I thought you said once you wouldn't be caught dead at something like this," Rigsby commented to Jane, scotch in one hand, boiled prawn in the other.

"Aren't I dead? It sure looks like I'm in Hell." He looked around in mock horror.

Cho smirked, understanding precisely what he meant. The others laughed appreciably.

"At least the shrimp's good," said Rigsby, undaunted when free food was involved.

A good half-hour passed with more laughter, witty remarks and shrimp. Lisbon saw that Jane was starting to look a little fidgety, despite the amusing conversation and having eaten his fill of canapés. He tended to get bored easily; he was very much like a child in that way.

"Had enough?" she asked softly, not meaning the food.

"Yeah. But I guess you were wisely on your way out thirty minutes ago. May I escort you to your car?"

"Sure."

They said their good-byes to the others, Van Pelt wanting to stick around for the Christmas karaoke, Rigsby for the hot new agent in the Sex Crimes division (the irony wasn't lost on him). Cho had slipped out unnoticed ten minutes before (the moment he heard the word _karaoke_), and Hightower felt obliged to stick it out until the bitter end.

Outside, in the coolness of the evening, Lisbon took a deep breath of fresh air. "Thank God that's over for another year," she said as they made their way to her car.

Jane was feeling a little out of sorts, and it wasn't just because of the mini spinach quiche he'd consumed. Throughout their time at the party, he found his eyes straying to Lisbon more often than usual. He truly liked the people he worked with, but he realized that it was Lisbon's opinions that mattered the most, Lisbon's laughter that he was happiest to hear. Had it always been that way, or was he just now noticing it?

The idea of kissing her had been in the forefront of his mind since he'd hypnotized her, and it irritated him to no end that he couldn't remember an experience that had so strongly affected Lisbon, if her new nervousness was any indication. His attention was drawn to the soft shape of her lips, to her sweet dimples that seem to be teasing him now, appearing and disappearing at unexpected intervals.

And then there was the blinking. He'd counted five times in that half-hour space of time that she'd looked at him and double-blinked. Oh, their interlude was definitely on her mind, and the more he saw that she was thinking about it, the more intrigued he became. It must have been something special, to get her all worked up this way, to dishevel the usually cool and collected Agent Lisbon.

They reached Lisbon's car and she fumbled for her keys in her blazer pocket. They slipped from her fingers in her nervousness, and Jane bent to pick them up.

"Thanks," she said, and he could have sworn her hand trembled when she accepted the keys from his.

For Jane's part, he felt an unmistakable current pass between them, and he looked into her eyes, glittering green in the glow of the security light. And then those eyes blinked at him like flashing beacons, drawing him irrevocably closer. He took a step forward, her spicy scent tantalizing him. It was at that moment that Jane came to the terrifying realization that he wanted her.

"Something wrong with your eyes?" he asked suddenly, feeling the need to break the tension and cover how rattled he felt.

"I don't know," Lisbon replied, embarrassed, one hand going self-consciously to her temple. "The last few days, I've had this weird tic or something. I guess it's because I haven't been sleeping well."

Jane felt his first stirrings of guilt at his part in her sleepless nights. He, more than anyone, understood the frustration of insomnia, and it pained him to know he might be the one causing Lisbon's sleepless nights.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. They stood a few moments in awkward silence, neither of them moving away from his unusual breech of her personal space.

"Well," she said finally, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow." She gave him a small smile.

"Yeah. Bright and early." His serious tone belied the lightness of his words.

Impulsively, he leaned in even closer, his eyes closing involuntarily, his lips finding her smooth cheek. Her soft hair tickled his face, and he heard Lisbon's slight intake of breath at his nearness and the sensual pressure of his warm mouth. The seconds passed slowly as he savored the moment, the texture of her skin, the way the world around him seemed to have changed in an instant. He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, his heart racing. She'd stood stock still the entire time, holding the breath she'd taken and releasing it in a tremulous sigh as he pulled away. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled wistfully into her eyes.

"Sweet dreams, Teresa," he said, turning away from her to find his Citroen before his shaken emotions showed on his face.

A/N: I hope I'm capturing the confusion each of them is feeling, the surprise at how quickly things can change between friends, because that's what I was aiming for, lol. Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked this chapter enough to review.

P.S.: I have a question for you serious fanatics, since I don't have time to go back and re-watch every episode. Is there an episode, besides "Jolly Red Elf," in which Jane laughs or even chuckles? I can't remember if he ever has. I'm sure Simon Baker must have chosen this character trait to illustrate how sad Jane is beneath the surface, how maybe he feels like he doesn't deserve to laugh, that it is somehow disrespectful to his dead family. I know he certainly has smiled on many occasions, but I've been wondering whether having him chuckle or laugh is out of character in my fics. What do you think?


	5. Surrender

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews, as well as the suggestions about Jane's laugh/chuckle scenes. I've checked out quite a few of them, and while so far I've seen him give an occasional small chuckle or even make one of his odd (though endearing) little noises of mirth, I haven't come across a moment where he gave a full-on laugh, from the belly, from the heart. I maintain my theory that this is a characterization choice for Simon Baker, and it is indeed a wise one. My fics, however, will still allow Jane to laugh sometimes, because hey, in most of my stories, he is in love with Lisbon—that alone should make him happy enough to laugh, right? And keep those suggestions of episodes coming. I'll gladly check them out as I continue my quest. Thanks again! Now, onward to the story at hand, liberally sprinkled with chuckles and perhaps even a laugh or two.

**Chapter 5: Surrender**

The day before Christmas Eve arrived, and Jane mentally prepared himself, as he had the last three days, to come into work and avoid being alone with Lisbon. It had actually been easier than he'd expected, considering they had been lucky enough not to have a new case since the Santa Claus fiasco the week before. He spent most of his days either on his couch or up in the attic, writing in his journal his thoughts on LaRoche's investigation and his own theories of who burned Todd Johnson alive.

Lisbon too had confined herself in her office, blinds drawn, door shut, rarely emerging, even for lunch. Since there was no case, no one questioned it, and she and Jane were allowed to get away with hiding from what was blossoming between them—at least physically. Mentally? Well, that was a different story. Neither of them could get the night of the Christmas party out of their minds. They each continually replayed it, over and over, like the refrain of one of those annoying, catchy songs that won't let go of your brain. But, unlike a song, it caused a pooling of warmth in their bellies, a shivery whisper down their spines that alternately made them smile, cringe, or sigh. Three days of this mental torture, and Jane could stand it no more.

At the end of that third day, he'd mustered enough courage to tap lightly on Lisbon's closed door. He'd waited until everyone else was gone so there would be no more excuses for not dealing with this. For either of them.

"Come in," he heard her call dully. Jane opened the door just enough to slide in his homemade flag of surrender, fashioned from one of his white handkerchiefs and a pencil. He waved it solemnly, and was rewarded by her surprised bark of laughter. Jane's face replaced the flag, and he grinned at her.

"I wasn't aware we were at war," Lisbon said with a wry smirk.

"Well, we've been in an emotional siege for the past three days, and I would like to formally end it."

Lisbon looked hastily back at her computer. "I don't know what you mean."

He came all the way inside, shutting the door behind him, and took his usual place on her couch, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Teresa, Teresa, I mean the kiss, of course."

"Kiss?" she said, looking startled, yet managing to quickly recover with a raised eyebrow. "You mean the peck on the cheek you gave me in the parking lot? I'd hardly classify that as a kiss—no offense." Her words were punctuated by two quick blinks.

His grin returned, and he continued his attempt at reconciliation. "You're in denial if you think it was nothing. It was definitely _something,_ and I think we owe it to ourselves to figure out a name for it."

She looked at him at last, and Jane felt the jolt of her emerald gaze all the way to his groin. His smile melted away and he shifted uncomfortably. This was much more difficult than he'd thought it would be.

"Why?" she asked. "It was just one of those things that comes with too much wine."

"I didn't have any wine—and I don't think you had more than two glasses." She looked like she was about to protest, but he plowed on, ignoring her continued defiance in the face of reality. "Something has changed between us, Lisbon, and I think it started that night you drove me home. I've blocked out what happened, but you were sober as a judge that night, and I think you have the explanation of all of this tension stored in that steel trap brain of yours."

_Okay, Teresa, here's your chance to come clean, _Jane thought rather desperately.

"Nothing happened," she whispered.

"You're lying." He was suddenly angry. He got to his feet in consternation, hands gesticulating wildly, pacing in the small area before her desk. "Don't you think this is driving me crazy too? I suddenly have all these, these—_thoughts_—urges and emotions I don't know how to deal with. I hate it! I'm angry and frustrated and I'm getting even less sleep than usual, and it's all because of you, woman! Don't I have enough demons floating around in my brain without having to deal with _this _too_? _Whatever the hell is going on here, I don't think it's conducive to a good working relationship!" Jane abruptly ended his diatribe and harried movements, his heavy breathing filling up the little room.

Lisbon watched his impassioned speech in shock. She'd rarely seen him this worked up, and in the past it could always be explained by the subject of Red John. At those times, however, his voice had gone low and dangerous, his features contorted into a mask of determined vengeance, not this crazed burst of agitation.

"What do you want from me?" she asked softly, her arms folded across her chest in the classic defensive pose. Jane noticed, of course, and she noticed that he noticed, so she awkwardly lowered her hands to her lap.

He leaned forward, his hands on the edge of her desk, his eyes boring into hers. "I want you to break out of this mighty fortress of self-deception you've erected and tell me the truth about that night." For a moment, she felt compelled to answer him, mesmerized by his commanding voice and focused blue eyes, but then her own gaze turned calculating and she stood up to confront him.

"Ha," she scoffed. "That's rich. This from the _king_ of denial and deceit. I tell you what, you start being more forthcoming about what you write in your little book in the attic, and I'll consider sharing some of _my_ deep, dark secrets."

They regarded each other in silent, mutual obstinacy, before Jane finally saw the humor in the situation and removed his hands from her desk, smiling sheepishly.

"Well…guess we're at an impasse."

"I guess so," she agreed.

Jane mentally switched gears, deciding that perhaps Agent Lisbon needed a little more finessing. He didn't know why, but he wanted her to admit what had happened of her own free will, wanted her to be sinking in this quagmire of confusion alongside him. It was only fair, wasn't it?

"I think we need to have another trust test," he said at last.

"Not another trust fall," she countered, remembering that time years ago when she'd allowed him to catch her as she fell backwards into his arms. It had proven nothing, except that she could only trust him with her physical safety.

He grinned at the shared memory. "No, no, not that tired old test. Come around here," he instructed, indicating the space before her desk.

"Why?" Lisbon was naturally suspicious.

"Just come on. What's wrong? Chicken?"

"No," she replied petulantly, moving into position before him.

"Now, stick out both your hands toward me, and I'll do the same."

"This is stupid," she muttered, but complied anyway. Their fingertips touched with a near-visible spark of awareness, startling them both. Jane's voice quavered slightly as he continued his directions.

"Okay, link your hands with mine and look into my eyes for sixty seconds, no smiling."

"What's this gonna prove?" she asked, suddenly frightened at the prospect.

"It promotes intimacy and trust. If you can't look at someone in the eye, it's hard to be honest with them. Touching brings an added level of understanding, a feeling of shared purpose."

Lisbon hesitated a moment more, then joined hands, hers slightly cool and damp with nervousness, his warm and inviting. _Damn biofeedback, _she thought with annoyance. Then she lifted her chin and met his eyes. She had always been able to look Jane in the eye—there was no better way to detect when he was bullshitting her. Doing so while holding his hands was an entirely different situation. She was unprepared for the sensory overload of strong hands, soulful sea storm eyes, combined with subtly intoxicating cologne.

Jane found himself studying Lisbon's doe-shaped eyes, observing with keen interest the way the low light from her desk lamp made her dark pupils nearly overwhelm the green of her irises. He marveled at how tiny her hands felt as they gripped his, making him realize anew how deceptively delicate she was. It made him feel oddly protective, decidedly masculine and strong. He found, much to his surprise, that it was a feeling he could get used to.

A heavy minute passed, and then he said, his voice gone hoarse: "Now, take two steps closer."

His steps were longer than hers, of course, and she found herself closer to him than she'd expected. Their palms touched and their increased proximity became suddenly dizzying. Their six-inch disparity in height became more apparent as they stood just a foot apart, so that now she had to look up to meet his eyes, doing so with a small gulp. The last time he'd been this close to her, she'd received the most sensual kiss on the cheek she'd ever experienced, and the time before that, she'd been on top of him on his bed. She blinked up at him, and his breath caught audibly in his throat, almost like a strangled cry.

"Are you okay?" she whispered. Reflexively, his hands tightened on hers, and he leaned down until their foreheads touched, closing his eyes against the emotions bombarding him.

"Yes," he breathed. "No," he contradicted himself with a little laugh. "What are we doing here, Teresa?"

"Building trust?" she ventured, and he heard rather than saw the smile in her voice. "Is it working?"

He pulled back to look at her."I don't know, Lisbon. Are you ready to tell me what happened Friday night?"

She tried to disengage her hands, but he held them fast. "Tell me," he said persuasively. "What do you have to lose?"

She sighed, looking down at her feet. "Our friendship?"

Her answer caught him off guard, and he finally understood why she'd been keeping their passionate encounter a secret.

"Look at me," he said, and she did, though hesitantly. "Nothing could ever take that away from us, I swear."

She was visibly torn. What they'd done had been beautiful, even with its unfortunate ending. She didn't know why the idea of telling him felt like she was giving bad news to a victim's family. She shook her head at her musings, wondering who the victim would be in that analogy. Jane watched the flicker of emotions crossing her face, mentally prompting her to take a chance, to see what might become of her consciously releasing the description of their encounter into the universe. He hadn't known he was holding his breath until she began to speak.

"That night, at your house…you…_kissed _me." And there it was, free at last.

He brought her left knuckle to his lips and kissed it, then smiled reassuringly. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

She was flushing scarlet, and she wondered if he could feel the rapid jumping of her pulse where he held her hands.

"You're not…surprised?"

"Not at all," he replied. "Sometimes when we're drunk our inhibitions drop, you know that. You do things that you've subconsciously always wanted to do."

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to fully sink in.

"What? You've wanted to…?" She couldn't even finish the thought.

He shrugged. "Apparently my subconscious did." He looked at her narrowly. "What about _your_ subconscious, Teresa?"

"I don't know." Her face reddened even more, and she looked up at him shyly. "But if it helps…I kissed you back." From her sudden blinks, Jane had no doubt she'd gladly do so again.

"Did you now?" Jane flushed too, but it was more from ardor than embarrassment. Their eyes met and held, and they weren't even playing the stupid game anymore.

"So what do we do now?" she asked hesitantly. "Where do we go from here?"

"Damned if I know. Any suggestions?"

"Maybe," she said, but even though her blinking eyes gave away her intentions, Jane still experienced one of the biggest shocks of his life when Teresa Lisbon tiptoed up and pressed her lips to his.

A/N: How about that for a cliffie? LOL. I will blatantly use this plot device to keep you reading and begging for more—at least, I hope you will!


	6. Strike Three

A/N: This is my second chapter up this week, so please go back to chapter 5 first if you are behind. Sorry for that evil cliffie I left you with. To make up for it, here is the next chapter a day or two sooner than I'd hoped to get it posted. I hope it makes up a little for leaving you hanging, especially when I tell you this chapter is a little on the "M" side.

Oh, thank you for all the favorites and alert notices I've been receiving lately, and for all you newbies to my writing that are checking out my old fics and taking the time to post or favorite. That is so cool! Welcome to my little fanfiction world. Thanks for being here!

**Chapter 6: Strike Three**

At the first touch of her lips, Jane was paralyzed, much like a man who had not been kissed by a woman—really kissed—in eight years (that he remembered, anyway). So he stood there, immobile, while Lisbon did all the work. She lightly brushed her lips over his in a kiss as delicate and as fragile as their burgeoning emotions. So surprised was he that he could barely register what was happening, could only vaguely taste the strawberry lip balm as she shared it with his closed lips, could only distantly comprehend the light pressure she was exerting with her soft mouth. It all seemed too surreal, too untenable to believe.

_Lisbon is kissing me._

He knew he should be doing something, but for the first few seconds it didn't occur to him what that something was.

_Her mouth is on my mouth, and I'm standing here like a fool._

A few seconds of no response from her unsuspecting consultant, and Lisbon withdrew her mouth in embarrassment, her lips tingling, her cheeks flaming.

"I'm sorry, I—" she began, but the loss of her warm lips on his was the equivalent of throwing cold water on his face, and Jane awoke abruptly from his trance. Lisbon barely had time to take a breath before he pulled her almost roughly back by their joined hands, his head swooping down to continue what she had innocently begun. His lips were just like she remembered them—hot, full, intoxicating as smooth whiskey. She succumbed easily to the advances of his seeking tongue, opening to him as naturally as a flower to morning sunlight.

Jane took a moment to get his bearings, to adjust to the sensation of being so close he could feel as well as hear the vibrations of the surprised noises in her throat. He kissed her almost drowsily, taking his time, getting to know her all over again in a much different way. They were strangers here in this strange land, and he began to explore her with his hands, learning the landscape of her lean back, the topography of her breasts pressed against him, the softness of her hair as it slid through his fingers, the silken interior of her mouth. Her questing hands found his strong shoulders, reaching up higher to bury them in the curls at his nape. Their kiss deepened, and he moaned hoarsely as desire slammed into him and he found himself backing them toward the waiting couch. When he felt the cushions against his legs, he sat down, bringing her with him to fall gently onto his lap.

Jane adjusted her body against him, her bottom resting on his arousal as they resumed their kisses, their once deliberate movements now becoming frenzied with passion. His hands slipped beneath her t-shirt to the taut muscles of her stomach, and she shivered as he caressed her just beneath her breasts. Jane took that as encouragement, swallowing her gasp as his thumbs brushed over her satin-covered nipples.

A fever had overtaken them both, and she helped him struggle out of his suit coat, mouths still joined, her fingers quickly working the buttons on his vest and shirt until she could touch smooth, warm skin. Things were moving fast toward the point of no return, but neither of them gave a thought to stopping. Every touch felt so wonderful, so addictive already that Lisbon's head was spinning, her body shaking with need.

Jane released her mouth to rain open-mouthed kisses over her face, then moved to her ear and down her neck. She bent her head back to allow him better access to her throat, and his moist breath and soft hair tickled her skin. Her breath hitched as she held him closer, felt him deftly release the front clasp of her bra.

"Slow down," she gasped, her voice surprising her above the sound of their labored breathing. He didn't seem to hear her. "Please…Jane…_Patrick!"_

"Huh?" he murmured, his hands cupping her naked breasts at the same time he captured her mouth again. His renewed kisses blotted out everything rational, and she forgot she had said anything remotely comprehensible.

Ordinarily, Jane was a man in complete control of his faculties. Sure, he did things that to others might seem impulsive, but those who doubted he had methods to his madness did so at their own peril. But the moment Lisbon's lips had met his, he'd become completely lost in the reactions of his body. Her smell, her taste, her sounds flooded his senses, drowning out all logical thought for the first time since his long-ago stint in the psychiatric hospital. But this, _this_ was a different kind of madness.

He leaned to the side and pushed her gently back onto the couch, consumed by his newfound world of lust and desire. She looked up at him, eyes slumberous with arousal, and he suddenly froze, her words of a moment before finally registering. _Slow down, she had said. Why am I still attacking her like a teenager in the back seat?_

He sat up and ran trembling hands through hair already mussed by Lisbon's fingers.

"Jane?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm, uh, sorry, Lisbon. You told me to slow down, and I just kicked it into overdrive."

She sat up on her elbows, her knees bent. He risked a quick glance at her disheveled appearance, (and was immediately sorry that he had) lips swollen from his frenetic kisses, top pulled up, black bra hanging awkwardly from beneath it, hair mussed, cheeks rosy and mottled by his 'round-the-clock shadow. His heart clenched at her fallen expression.

"I was there too," she said shakily, sitting up and turning away to re-clip her bra in a belated attempt at modesty. "And I could have kicked your ass if I'd really wanted you to stop."

He grinned despite his racing heart. "That you could." He was slightly mollified by her logic. Jane followed her eyes to his bare chest and began sheepishly re-buttoning. They were both quiet as they brought themselves to rights.

"I'm sorry you did," she said softly. He looked over and met her eyes. "Stop, I mean. But I guess things were sort of getting…out of hand. I can't believe you were the one with the cool head, for once."

"Ha," he said humorlessly, and his eyes became suddenly tense and serious.

"Teresa-" he began.

She reached over for his hand. "You don't have to say anything. This was…ill-advised." She looked around her small office. "Not to mention a less than romantic place to have much more than a quickie."

A startled laugh escaped him. "It's been eight years, Lisbon, I'm pretty sure it would have been a quickie no matter where we were."

"You're kidding me," she said in surprise. "I thought maybe you and Kristina…"

"Not even first base," he confessed with a tinge of embarrassment. "Hell, we didn't even make it to the ball field."

"Oh."

"It's surprising how well the pursuit of vengeance can keep you warm at night."

She looked skeptical but said nothing.

"I'll certainly remember _this_," he said, his eyes flitting over her again. She felt her face warming at his appreciative gaze, her eyes back to their gentle blinking. He grinned at the fact that his spell was still working.

"I am curious about something though, Lisbon. Was it better when I wasn't drunk?"

She smiled, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek. "Much."

"I'm sure it's better any time it's not a drunk copping a feel."

"Yeah—what?" Her gaze sharpened as she looked at him. Later he would blame his desire-muddled brain for making that particular colossal mistake. "How did you know you—I never told you that."

He tried to save himself, but failed miserably. Teresa was one of the few people who could sometimes tell when he was lying. "I just assumed—I mean, you socked me in the nose."

"Jane," she growled. "Look at me."

He put on his _I'm going to look you straight in the eye and lie anyway _expression. "Yes?"

"You talk a good game about sharing and being honest! How could you possibly know something I haven't told another living soul? How could you—oh my God! You didn't!"

He held up his palms defensively. "Now, Lisbon—"

"You asshole! You _hypnotized_ me, didn't you? You just couldn't bear the thought that I was keeping something from you, so you had to betray _my_ trust, you lousy hypocrite! When? When did you do it?"

She got to her feet, standing before him to better shout in his face. "Teresa," he began again, trying to keep his voice level and soothing. But the enormity of what he'd done finally hit her.

"It was at my house the other night, wasn't it? You plied me with wine, lowered my defenses, and—and- _violated_ me!"

"Hey! I didn't lay a hand on you!"

"You damn well know what I mean, you sorry son of a bitch!" He should probably have seen it coming, but in an evening full of blindsides, he supposed a trademark Lisbon punch in the nose was the least of them.

"Ow!" he yelped, clutching the proboscis that had only recently healed after her last assault.

"Now, get the hell out of my office!" she cried, pointing toward the door.

"Lisbon, I'm sorry. Can't we please just talk about this?" His voice was comically nasal, but neither of them was laughing.

"No! I think we've _talked_ enough for one night. You're lucky I don't do you grave bodily harm you—you—masher!"

"Masher? What are you gonna do, hit me with your purse?"

"No, but my goddamned taser is around here somewhere." She made a show of looking around for it.

"All right, all right—I'm going." He rose to his feet, amazed anew at how quickly things could change, how such vulgar words could suddenly be falling from that sweet mouth he'd only recently kissed. At the door, he turned back to her, watching her seething with a rage that had him instantly aroused again.

"You should have told me everything the morning after, Lisbon. I had a right to know that I'd touched you like that, that I'd shared things with you that I'll never remember. It wasn't fair that you will always have the memory of our first kiss, and I—" He gulped, feeling oddly close to tears. "All I'll ever have from that night is a distinct aversion to Jack Daniels." With one last glance of extreme regret, Jane closed her door behind him with a soft _click_.

Lisbon fell weakly back onto the couch, even more troubling emotions joining the mix of the night's other troubling, exciting, terrifying emotions. Her eyes welled, threatening to spill over and make her feel even more unsteady than she already did at that moment. He'd lied to her, taken advantage of their friendship in the worst possible way. Despite the passion they'd shared tonight, she had no idea if she'd ever be able to move past this and forgive him. She leaned back, feeling the lump of Jane's suit coat beneath her head. She moved to throw it at the door, but something stopped her—the smell of his cologne still clung to the expensive fabric. She brought the collar to her nose and breathed it in, sensual images instantly assailing her.

"Dammit, Jane," she said aloud to the empty office. She buried her face in his jacket and cried.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On his way back from the men's room, Jane paused beside Lisbon's door. He listened closely, his ear to the shaded window, and was horrified to hear her muffled sobs.

_Dammit, Jane, _he said to himself. He rested his palm against the cool glass, wishing like hell that he could stop inflicting pain on every woman he'd ever loved. As he trudged sadly to the elevator, it didn't even occur to him that he'd so casually used the _L-word._

A/N: I hope I'm forgiven for the last cliffie. This ended a little on the angsty side, I know, but you had to realize Lisbon was going to find out what he did eventually. I promise it will all work out happily in the end, so please hang in there with me! Please sign in and let me know how I'm doing! I've sworn off chocolate for awhile, and reviews are the only pleasures I have left in life, lol.

P.S.: If you haven't seen the new season four promo for "Scarlet Ribbons," do a search on youtube! It'll knock your socks off!


	7. The Magic of Fudge

A/N: This is my THIRD update this week! I'm sorry I haven't gotten to your reviews for the last chapter yet, but I've been so busy writing! I hope you'll forgive me when you read this extra-long chapter. And be warned, it's definitely rated "M." I'll get to them all very soon, I promise, and I thank you!

**Chapter 7: The Magic of Fudge**

Christmas Eve, and the CBI HQ would close promptly at four that afternoon, by order of Bertram himself. In order to cut down on security people who would have to stay and guard the place over the holiday, there would be no admittance until after the New Year (a forced furlough to save the beleaguered State of California money). The team would still be on call should a case arise, however.

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were biding their time that morning until they could leave, all of them grateful there had been no last-minute case that would keep them from their families. That being said, it made the last day before the holiday sort of a drag, and they all were both bored and anxious to get out of there. That is, until Jane and the boss arrived.

Lisbon got there first, and she promptly went to her office and closed the door, without even a _hello_ or a _Merry Christmas Eve_. Jane came next, uncharacteristically avoiding the rest of the team in favor of climbing the stairs to his attic lair. It was all very strange. The three left in the bullpen watched the display with much interest, and Rigsby caught Van Pelt, shaking her head sadly to herself.

"What's up with them?" he asked her.

"Haven't you noticed they've been avoiding each other since the night of the Christmas party?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"They seemed pretty normal to me that night," Rigsby countered. "What? You know something we don't"

"Well," she began, looking around lest someone overhear. "After Jane and Lisbon left the party, Craig and I went outside to—uh-"-she blushed a little—"to get some fresh air, and I saw Jane and the boss at her car. He was _kissing_ her!" This proclamation even had Cho looking up from his novel.

"What?" said Rigsby.

"Well, it was only on the cheek, but it was the longest, sexiest kiss on the cheek I've ever seen!"

Cho promptly lost interest.

"Yeah, right," said Rigsby, rolling his eyes.

"But we've all seen how they've been hiding out in their caves all week. That's got to be why. They're uncomfortable around each other now. There has to be a way to get them to start talking again. They would be so perfect together!"

"We should stay out of it," said Cho. Even though Van Pelt was finally catching on to what he'd suspected about Jane and the boss for years, it still fell under the _It's None of Our Business _file.

"What do you propose we do?" asked Rigsby, always willing to give anything Van Pelt said a chance.

"We pull a Ms. DiPesto on them."

"Huh?"

Cho knew exactly what she was referring to. "When Maddie and David lost the baby, DiPesto and Viola arranged for them to get stuck in an elevator to talk it out."

Rigsby looked totally clueless.

Cho was consistently annoyed with Rigsby's limited knowledge of _quality_ pop culture. The barbarian could talk all day about _Jersey Shore. _"Didn't you ever watch _Moonlighting?_ Best show from the 80's. Netflix it._"_

"What do you think?" Van Pelt asked Cho.

"Bad idea," said Cho.

Just then, Lisbon came out of her office with her empty CBI mug in hand, obviously headed to the break room. At precisely the same time, Jane descended the stairs, blue teacup in hand. The pair caught each other's eyes, looked hastily away, then abruptly turned around and went back to their respective hideouts. The team had witnessed the entire exchange—or lack of one.

"See?" said Van Pelt, shooting the men a meaningful glance. "Hey, did it look like Jane's eyes were blackened?"

Rigsby chuckled. "I bet she punched him in the nose again."

"We can't let this go on," Van Pelt said in horror. "It's _Christmas_."

_As if that justified butting into the boss's life,_ thought Cho.

"If they don't make up," she continued, "it's gonna be like this around here all the time. Tension, drama, hard feelings. Who do you think will be paying for Lisbon's bad moods? That's right: _us_."

Cho had a flashback to how it was when Rigsby and Van Pelt had first broken up. It was not a situation he'd like to repeat.

"I'm in," Cho said, taking his coworkers by surprise.

"You're kidding me," Rigsby replied in disbelief. "What about what you said about staying out of it?"

"Not a fan of drama."

Rigsby realized Cho had a point. "Me neither. Count me in too, Grace. Now, Miss Matchmaker, how do you intend to get them in the elevator together if they won't even go into the break room at the same time?"

"Oh, you just leave that to me. All I need from you guys is to rig the elevator to stop and the alarm not to alert Charlie in Security. I'll take it from there."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Rigsby sarcastically.

"Come on—I have total faith in you two."

Cho and Rigsby looked at each other, already regretting their decision to help.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon couldn't wait until four o'clock, and it wasn't because it was Christmas Eve. As a matter of fact, that was the last thing on her mind. Once she'd stopped crying in her office the night before, she'd willed herself not to cry again. Her emotions about her second intimate interlude with Jane were still all over the map, but one thing she was absolutely clear about: she was still furious that he'd hypnotized her without her knowledge. That was such a betrayal of their friendship she didn't know how they could ever come back from that.

Normally she wasn't one to shy away from a fight, to hide from her problems, but seeing Jane this morning had her running back to her office like a little girl running to her mommy. She was ashamed of this, but she also knew she needed the week to try to cope with all that had happened between them. When the imaginary whistle blew early that evening, Lisbon grabbed her coat, a few files for the week, and locked her office door. She tried to stifle her annoyance when Van Pelt accosted her on the way to the elevator chatting with her about Christmas dinners with family and friends. She was surprised to see that she was still there; most people in the office had already used Christmas travel as an excuse to leave early.

"I thought you had a plane to catch," Lisbon said evenly, hoping she hadn't sounded as rude as she'd thought.

But Van Pelt only grinned. "It's not for another three hours. I just was trying to finish things up so I didn't have to worry about it all week." The junior agent glanced at Lisbon's homework and felt like biting her tongue. "Anyway, I hadn't had much chance to ask you about your holiday plans. You seemed to have been awfully busy this week."

"No plans, really. Just me and a bucket of chicken."

Van Pelt's face fell, and Lisbon saw with irritation her look of pity. "Why didn't you say something? You would be more than welcome to come with me to Iowa. You still could—maybe you could fly stand-by." Her eyes lit up excitedly.

"Thanks, Van Pelt, but really, I'm looking forward to doing a few things around my apartment this week. Finishing off some stuff I've been meaning to get to." _Like that brownie chunk ice cream in the freezer._

By then they'd reached the elevator, and, low and behold, Jane was waiting as well. The announced warning of the building's impending closure had come over the loudspeaker, and no one wanted to be locked in the empty CBI HQ for a week. Naturally, Jane had waited until the very last moment, as well. He eyed the approach of the two women with trepidation and a quickening pulse. With Van Pelt there as a witness, it would look pretty silly and suspicious were Jane to take the stairs when he nearly always took the elevator out of the building, so he stood patiently nearby, waiting for the notoriously slow contraption to stop on their floor.

He smiled his hello, carefully avoiding Lisbon's eyes, and continued to wait in uncharacteristic silence, listening to Van Pelt's cheerful chatter about turkey dinners and football games. When the elevator door finally opened, Jane held out his arm to usher the ladies ahead of him, and he stepped inside, Van Pelt standing like a buffer between them. At the last second before the doors slid closed, Van Pelt gave a surprised cry and held her hand between them, forcing them open so she could slip back out.

"Sorry! I forgot something!" She called. "You two have a Merry Christmas!" The doors slid shut, and they were alone in the small enclosure. The elevator dropped one floor, and abruptly…stopped. The startled pair looked upward, as those in elevators are wont to do, then askance at the closed doors, then at the buttons on the wall. Lisbon began pounding each button in turn, then all of them at once. Not even the red emergency button wasn't sounding any alarms.

"Looks like we're stuck," Jane said.

"We're not stuck; just stopped."

Jane raised an amused eyebrow. "Isn't that the definition of _stuck?_"

"Shut up, Jane, and let me try to figure this out." She pulled out her cell phone and pressed her speed-dial for Cho.

"Why are you bothering with that? No one ever gets reception in this tin can."

She didn't reply, but tried a few more keys, then walked around the elevator, holding up her phone in a vain attempt to increase the bars by the cell's little antenna symbol. As Jane predicted, she had no luck, so angrily stuffed the useless phone back in her pocket. He wisely didn't say he'd told her so.

She looked up at the tiny camera in one corner of the ceiling, and began frantically waving her arms. After a few seconds she stopped. "The goddamn light is off! Heads are gonna roll in Security."

Jane had watched her display in amusement, not worried in the least that everything wouldn't work out, that they'd be out of there in no time. If Lisbon hadn't been so afraid to be alone with him, she probably wouldn't be over-reacting right now. He jumped a little when she suddenly started yelling.

"Help! Heeellllpppp!" She punctuated her cries with pounding on the door. It was so loud it sounded like someone had fired a gun in there, and Jane cringed to the point of covering his ears. After a long thirty seconds, her caterwauling ceased, and she looked angrily at her fellow captive. "You could help me out here, you know."

"I would if I thought you needed it. There are only a few dead people in San Francisco still in their tombs." The look she shot him would have made a lesser man tremble; Patrick Jane only smiled. "Look, we've only been in here a few minutes. Someone else must still be in the building. I mean, Grace has probably already figured out what happened and is talking to Charlie right now. This temperamental thing breaks down at least once a week. Relax and stop expending your energy."

"Relax?" she said, her voice dropping to a deadly level. "Relax? And if I don't, what are you gonna do, hypnotize me?"

He visibly blanched. "I'm sorry, Lisbon. I'll tell you a million times if it helps." She wasn't taken in by his puppy dog eyes.

She looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time since last night, noting with some satisfaction his pair of shiners from her equally satisfying punch to his nose. "Don't even use that phrase with me. It means nothing, coming from you. As usual, when you apologize, it's not because you are genuinely sorry for what you've done, it's because you got caught. If I hadn't figured out what you'd done, you never would have told me, would you?"

He considered saying what she wanted to hear, but he figured she'd know he was lying. He shrugged. "Probably not. But I'm glad I know what happened last Friday. I maintain that I deserved to know. All your talk about _me_ not keeping secrets…" He shook his head to point out her hypocrisy.

"Don't even go there. It's not nearly the same thing, and you know it." She sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool metal door. "God, why are you punishing me?" she whispered.

"You're not being punished, Lisbon. As a matter of fact, I think Fate has stepped in to get us alone and talking."

Her head whipped around in epiphany. "You! _You _did this, didn't you?"

"What?"

"Arranged to have us stuck in here together."

His laugh was genuine. "Lisbon, I swear to God, I had nothing to do with this."

"You don't believe in God," she hissed.

"Okay, I swear on a stack of CBI manuals, if you'd rather." She didn't mention that he certainly didn't believe in those either. "I promise, I would never purposefully lock myself in a small enclosure with a woman who clearly wants to cause me bodily harm." He had a brief moment of fear as he realized she was more than likely armed.

Lisbon stared at him a moment, gauging his sincerity. She must have believed him, for she promptly dropped the subject and took up yelling again. Jane didn't hesitate to cover his ears this time. When she was suitably hoarse, she stopped, sliding down the wall in defeat.

"No one's coming. We're stuck in here for the next week. But I guess that's okay. We'll die of thirst after about five days. Although…we might be able to recycle our fluids and buy us an extra day or two…"

"Recycle our fluids?" he said in disgust. "Geeze, Lisbon, I think I'd rather die. Besides, I didn't really drink that much tea today."

For the first time since yesterday, Lisbon was the one to grin. Jane could be a bit of a girl sometimes. She absently leaned her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Inspiration struck her. "Hey, wait a minute." She got to her feet. "Jane, boost me up, will ya?"

He followed her gaze and shook his head. "You've been watching too many movies, Lisbon."

"Just boost me," she said in annoyance. Jane obediently linked his hands while she kicked off her boots, putting one dainty foot into the cradle he'd made. He raised her up easily and she pushed on the paneled ceiling. Nothing. If there had been an escape hatch like there was supposed to be, it wasn't budging. She pounded on it for good measure but she didn't even make a dent. If they survived this, she would strongly recommend a serious overhaul to elevator security.

"Alright, let me down," she said resignedly. He did so, but found himself reluctant to let her go. When she nearly fell, he let loose of her foot and grabbed her tiny waist to keep her steady against him. They were both instantly affected by the physical contact, and the moment her feet met the floor again, she backed away as far as she could under the circumstances and resumed her place on the floor, closing her eyes against his undeniable charisma. A few minutes later, and she heard the rustling of clothing as Jane removed his suit coat and mirrored her position on the opposite wall. About ten minutes passed as they sat there, lost in thought. Lisbon had assumed he must have drifted off to sleep, when all at once, he began to speak.

"Let's look on the bright side," he began.

"What bright side?"

"Aw, Lisbon, there's always a bright side. I am hugely grateful, for example, that they turned off the musak they used to pipe in here five years ago."

Lisbon grinned. "Yes, you've got a point there. It seemed like every time I got on this thing, I was bombarded with _Do You Know the Way to San Jose? _I swear to God, I just wanted to shout, 'We freakin' live in Northern California! Everyone knows where the hell San Jose is!'"

Jane chuckled in commiseration. "Yeah, for me, it was _A Summer Place. _You don't know how many times I wanted to grab your gun and just end it all."

It felt good to laugh together, after a week of drama and avoidance. Before any of this had happened, they'd been friends first, for years, in fact. She'd certainly forgiven him for worse things, hadn't she?

"Lisbon," he said, filling in the achingly familiar companionable silence that followed. "I _am _sorry that I hurt you. You must know I never intentionally try to do that."

She opened her eyes and looked at him, his own eyes still closed, wondering how it was that she'd never allowed herself to focus on just how beautiful he was. Sure, she knew it was true, on an unconscious, never-to-be-acknowledged-openly level. But when she examined him now, her eyes softened involuntarily, and she felt the warm glow of the beginning of forgiveness. But he didn't have to know that he would be getting off that easily. He had a lot to make up for, and she would make it as hard on him as she possibly could. She knew from past experience it was nearly impossible to stay mad at him, so she never bothered to even try to hold a grudge. He'd do something sweet, like make her an origami frog, or bring her coffee, or chocolate, and then flash that bright-as-the-sun smile at her and she'd be done for. But he didn't have to know that either, so she closed her eyes so he wouldn't see how much power he truly had over her, especially now that she'd felt his lips and hands on her body.

"I know," she answered him at last. "But you keep doing it, and it's getting very old."

She heard the rustling of clothing again, and she was suddenly assailed by the unmistakable fragrance of rich chocolate, right beneath her nose. She opened her eyes and looked at the piece of candy he was holding in front of her, then up at his sparkling eyes. "I have a peace offering for you," he said from his kneeling position beside her.

Someone had left a tray of Christmas cookies and fudge on the break room table, and Jane had grabbed a few treats, wrapping them in a napkin and slipping them in his coat pocket for later.

"Oh, my God," Lisbon said, her eyes widening. "Is that Mrs. Corman's fudge?"

"Uh-huh. She always puts extra walnuts in it just for me," he said of the first-floor receptionist, a kindly older lady with an obvious crush on the handsome consultant. "She says I remind her of her son."

Lisbon snickered, her eyes still glued to the chocolate. "Yeah, right." Then she grew serious all of a sudden. "You know, we've only been in here about thirty minutes. Maybe we should conserve this."

"Psh. We'll be out of here in no time. Eat the fudge, Lisbon. You look like you could use it." He pushed the candy toward her mouth before she could reach up a hand to take it, and his eyes darkened as she opened wide and took the whole piece in one bite. Her face contorted in ecstasy, and Jane swallowed dryly at her sensual expression. It very much resembled what she'd looked like in the throes of passion.

"Hmmm…" she moaned, just making things even more uncomfortable for Jane.

"Good, huh?" he said throatily.

"Oh, yeah," she said, her words garbled by her full mouth. He watched her chew a moment, her eyes closed as she savored how the smooth confection melted in her mouth, unaware of the dangerous strain she was placing on Jane's self-control. When she'd finished chewing, and sighed again in complete pleasure, he could take no more, and the next thing Lisbon knew, she was being kissed to within an inch of her life.

There was nothing sweeter than Teresa Lisbon's mouth at that moment, and it wasn't just because of the chocolate. He tasted forgiveness on her tongue, felt it in the way her hands went immediately to his hair as she kissed him back. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a new kind of hope and…gratitude. They forgot where they were, that the elevator could start up again at any moment, and she allowed him to lay her on the carpeted floor, having removed her jacket to act as a blanket beneath her. He pinned her to the floor of the close space with his body, his heart pounding in his ears as he made love to her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers in deep, seemingly endless kisses.

It wasn't long before they both became impatient, and they leapt into action, quickly and sometimes awkwardly divesting each other of the rest of their clothing, a mindless race to feel more and more warm, naked skin. He paused a moment to look at her, breathing heavily as he reverently traced the curve of one breast. His eyes found hers, and he smiled a little, joyous beyond measure when she smiled back. He kissed her once more on her swollen lips, before setting his sights on her two wondrously perfect breasts.

At the first touch of Jane's hot, wet mouth on her nipple, Lisbon cried out, her hands slipping down to follow the movements of his head as he licked and teased first one, then the other. One of his hands played over her trembling stomach, and he moved down to circle with his thumb while two fingers slipped inside her. They both moaned at her increased wetness. He was more than ready as well—Lisbon could feel his heavy arousal against her thigh—and neither of them wanted to wait anymore.

"Please, Jane," she gasped, nearly light-headed with panting. He moved over her body again, allowing the intense pleasure of his full weight upon her for a moment, before she bent one knee and he plunged into her silken depths.

"Teresa," he breathed into her neck, and his forehead broke into a sweat as he tried not to make this go as quickly as he wanted to.

"It's okay," she whispered, her hands caressing his taut back. "Just let go…"

With that heartfelt blessing, Jane let his mind empty as his body filled hers, sliding in and out as her shapely legs wrapped around him, pushing him in even more deeply. He'd known it wouldn't take long this first time after so many years of celibacy, but when he felt that her passion had risen to the same fever pitch as quickly as his had, he allowed himself to let go, just as she'd encouraged. It surprised them both when the rarest of phenomena occurred, and they reached their pinnacles together. Their shared groans and cries echoed in the small enclosure, and Jane fell against her, boneless and spent.

Lisbon had never felt such intense pleasure before, had never felt so connected to a lover, both physically and emotionally. As she lay beneath him, uncaring of his weight, she realized she'd never made love with a friend, one who'd known her for so long, knew her mind—and she'd never admit this to him, ever—sometimes even better than she knew it herself. They had been so in tune that it felt like they might have been doing this for ages, for he seemed to know just the right way to move, to touch, as if anticipating her every need. A humorous thought occurred to her, and he felt her silent laughter beneath his chest.

"What?" he asked lazily, breathing in the apple scent of her hair.

"There are definite perks to making love with a psychic."

"There's no such thing as psychics, Lisbon," he replied automatically.

She smiled against his soft hair. "After that performance, I think you should re-evaluate your definition."

He lifted his head to look at her, a bemused grin on his face. He'd felt it too, that deep connection, was still shaken to the core by it. It was all he could do not to start rhapsodizing of her beauty, her charm, her own sexual prowess. As brief as it was, it was the most powerful encounter he'd ever shared with a woman, and if he were totally honest with himself, he'd have to include his wife in that assessment. He'd loved Angela, enjoyed their lovemaking, but he knew that he'd idealized everything about her since her murder, so that now, in the face of the reality that was Teresa Lisbon, he was forced to conclude that sex with his coworker had been more deeply fulfilling than anything he'd known before.

Lisbon watched the unusually unguarded play of emotions over his face, wondering what he was thinking, if he was comparing her to his wife.

"Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid to hear his answer. He tenderly brushed the hair from her eyes, then pressed his lips softly to hers.

"Yes," he said honestly, and watched as the crease between her eyebrows disappeared in relief. "More than all right." He blushed a little in remembrance of his hasty arrival at the finish line. "I did warn you I'd be, uh…_brief_."

"Wasn't it Shakespeare who said, 'brevity is the soul of wit'?" She smirked at her own joke.

Jane smiled. "Much as I love the bard, I don't think that's quite what he meant, but thank you for that, Lisbon."

He rolled them to their sides, gathering her closer in his arms. As their bodies began to cool, he reached for his coat and draped it over them. While the tension was gone between them, there was still much for them to be confused about, and they fell silent as they lay together on the hard floor. This could become either very complicated or very simple, depending on how each of them handled this new phase of their relationship. It would also depend on setting some ground rules, mainly surrounding the issue of honesty.

"I'm still mad at you, you know," Lisbon said suddenly, snuggling closer. "There's still a lot we have to talk about."

He kissed the top of her head. "I know, Lisbon. Believe me, I know. But can you at least wait until I have the chance to make love to you properly—perhaps even in a bed?"

He felt her warm lips on his chest, and it occurred to him that he might not be able to wait even that long.

"Maybe," she replied. "I'll have to think about it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Three hours later…_

The second time they made love was not in a bed, unfortunately—or fortunately, however they chose to look at it—but against the wall of the CBI elevator. Afterwards, they reluctantly dressed and sat together on the floor, eating Jane's cookies and the rest of the fudge.

"If I'm going to die," Jane said, "I want it to be with the memory of a belly full of sweets and the even sweeter taste of Teresa Lisbon on my tongue."

Lisbon leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled shyly, blushing at his sensual words. Then, just as abruptly as it had stopped, the elevator started again, and Jane and Lisbon got stiffly to their feet just as the car landed on the first floor. The doors slid open smoothly as if they had never been stuck. Charlie stood looking at them, an apologetic grin on his boyish face.

"Sorry Agent Lisbon, Mr. Jane. This thing needs to be retired."

Lisbon and Jane bent to pick up their jackets and Lisbon's discarded files, then wished Charlie an overly enthusiastic "Merry Christmas!" before exiting HQ, three and a half hours later than ordered.

_Grace had been right_, thought Charlie, fondly remembering the words of the lovely redhead. _They weren't mad at all._

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Three and a half hours earlier…_

"Is everything set?" Van Pelt asked Rigsby anxiously.

"Yep. How about on your end?"

"I'll call Charlie in about three hours and warn him that there might be someone trapped inside the elevator."

Rigsby still looked a little anxious. "If this doesn't work, and they somehow figure out we're behind it, we could all lose our jobs," Rigsby warned.

"They won't find out," said Cho matter-of-factly. He was a professional, after all. No one would find fingerprints, surveillance video or evidence of any kind. As far as a matchmaking set-up went, that was about as perfect as it got.

"Well, thanks guys," gushed Van Pelt. "You won't be sorry, I promise." She kissed each man's cheek and wished them an overly-enthusiastic "Merry Christmas!"

A/N: I know, I know, major cliché there about being trapped and making love in an elevator. But what can I tell you, I'm a romantic at heart, and I know from personal experience that elevators can in fact be very…romantic ;). As for the reference to my all-time favorite show from the 80's, "Moonlighting," I admit to blatantly ripping off exactly three lines of dialogue from the elevator scene—the first three. I couldn't resist paying homage to Maddie and David, who, for me, is the bantering standard for couples by which I measure all bantering couples on television (for films, it has to be Cary Grant and Claudette Colbert, or maybe Eva Marie Saint, and, of course, Hepburn and Tracy. For Shakespeare, it's Benedick and Beatrice, or Kate and Petruchio). Do a search on youtube to get a taste of "Moonlighting", especially from the first two seasons, then immediately go out and rent or buy them, or any of the movies or plays I mentioned. I promise, you won't be disappointed!

Well, there's one more chapter in this fic. I do hope you are enjoying reading as much as I am writing.


	8. Geneva Conventions

**A/N: **So, here it is, the last chapter. Most of you know I'm not one for long, drawn-out things. This final chapter has some fluffy elements, but also some serious ones. It doesn't resolve all the problems their new relationship must endure, but I hope you are satisfied with this ending nonetheless.

**Chapter 8: Geneva Conventions**

As Jane walked Lisbon to her car, he was surprised at how awkward it was _not_. As a matter of fact, he felt just as relaxed in her presence as he had for years, and he knew it was more a testament to their easy friendship than to the magnificent sex they'd just had. _Well, maybe that was __**part**__ of it_, he mused. He stood before her near her SUV, and both of them remembered a similar scene in a different parking lot just a few days before. He would have kissed her now, but he wasn't sure if Lisbon was ready to go public yet, and he figured Charlie had had enough excitement for one evening. He settled on an invitation instead.

"So…as magical as Mrs. Corman's fudge is, our recent…_exertions_ have left me rather famished. Would you like to go grab a bite somewhere?"

It was too dim to see if she was blushing, but he knew she likely was. "Are you asking me out on a date?" she teased. "Because I think we've established that you really don't have to go to all that trouble now."

He grinned. "I told you once I wouldn't try to seduce you over a meal; I never said anything about the floor of an elevator. You know I never do things the conventional way, Lisbon. So…what say you?"

He had a moment of panic when he thought she would refuse him, as she stood there in the cool evening, contemplating his question. "I _am_ hungry, but I also feel a little dirty from rolling around on the floor." His grin widened at the shared memory, as well as at her unintentional innuendo. She ignored his reaction. "How about just picking up some takeout and eating it at my place? That's about all that's gonna be open on Christmas Eve anyway."

"Something quick and cheap, eh?"

"Yes," she said, then her eyes grew mischievous. "Like my men."

He let out a surprised laugh. "Hey," he protested. "I'm not _cheap_."

She smiled but made no comment on that score. "Let me get a head start and I'll meet you at my place. You bring the burgers."

"Yes, Boss." He gave her a mock salute, and his teeth flashed in the darkness. He'd show her who really _was_ boss a little later. "I'll see you in a bit," he told her, infusing as much sensual promise in those six little words as he could. He was rewarded with two swift blinks.

He felt her eyes on him as he walked away to his own car, and then she pulled out of her space and breezed past him on her way home. He waved her off, his heart squeezing to almost painful levels as he watched her leave, missing her terribly already. He shook his head at life's capriciousness.

Jane stopped short as he noticed something unusual about his car. For one thing, the driver's side window was encircled with familiar red garland, a garish attempt to decorate the little Citroen for the holiday. He knew at once the only person who could possibly think of such a thing, and his prediction was confirmed when he saw a red envelope held down by a windshield wiper. He retrieved his mail and got into his car, opening it in the glow of his ceiling light. The jolly red elf himself greeted him on the cover of the Christmas card, and he didn't notice, as the sender had, the resemblance of Santa's sparkling blue eyes to those of a certain CBI consultant. He opened the card, and beneath the traditional holiday wishes was a message written in Van Pelt's flowery hand:

_Merry Christmas, Jane! _

_(You can thank me later.) _

_Love,_

_Grace_

Jane instantly realized what had happened. He and Lisbon had been set up. It was one of the oldest tricks in the Book of Matchmaking—get the couple trapped alone together. He chuckled, having forgotten what it felt like to be duped by a master. He wondered if she'd had help in her little experiment, and came to the likely conclusion that at the very least, Rigsby had been in on it, if not Cho as well, through some major arm-twisting. Jane wasn't surprised they'd sensed the sexual tension between him and Lisbon over the past few days; they were good detectives after all, and it probably didn't even take a good detective to know something was simmering with their boss and consultant. He was sure they'd felt that if Lisbon wasn't happy, _no one_ would be happy. How well he knew that particular law of nature. He'd certainly be thanking Grace later for her efforts, as she'd predicted he would. Maybe he'd send her flowers.

He tossed the card in the glove compartment for safekeeping, then, as an afterthought, he got out of the car again and removed the garland so it wouldn't blow off on the drive. _You never know when you might need a bit of red garland,_ he thought in amusement. Jane started the Citroen, then pulled out of the parking lot, waving to George in the guardhouse as he drove by. Before heading to Lisbon's favorite burger joint, he had one little stop to make.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon got out of the shower and stood before her open closet, anticipation running hot in her veins at the thought of Jane's impending arrival. Coupled with that, of course, was the excitement of reliving their intimate moments in the elevator. She shivered in remembered passion, along with some other emotion that she wasn't quite ready to name. It was enough for now that she was looking forward to seeing him again, touching him, kissing those sensual lips of his. So, what to wear? A sexy negligee (of which she had but one) black, silky and only worn once? Her usual round-the-house outfit of sleep pants and tanktop? Jeans and a t-shirt? She didn't think she was being too presumptuous when she assumed Jane would be sleeping (or not sleeping) in her bed that night, but she didn't want to appear desperate about it.

She compromised with jeans and a close-fitting black tank. She quickly blew out her hair, touched up her light make-up and reapplied a little perfume to her pulse points, thinking with a smile that her pulse was already getting quite a workout lately. She'd just finished up when the doorbell rang and she took a deep breath, peaking out the peephole at a smiling Patrick Jane. She opened the door with a flutter in the region of her heart, unfamiliar with finally acknowledging her long-held attraction to him. It would take some getting used to. But when that smile was directed at her, she thought that maybe it wouldn't be as difficult as she'd thought.

She noticed he must have quickly showered himself, for his hair was slightly damp, and his clothes were fresh and more casual than she was used to seeing on him. He looked sexy in a soft-looking blue cashmere sweater, a white t-shirt peeking beneath the v-neck, and khaki trousers. In one hand he held a white paper sack that smelled suspiciously of French fries, and in the other, a bright red gift bag. But she laughed aloud at the yard of red, shimmering garland wrapped rakishly about his neck like a scarf.

"Don't tell me you're going to start singing Christmas carols," she said in mock horror.

"Not even if you begged me," Jane said dryly. His blue eyes scanned her face and figure, a new appreciation glimmering there, unimpeded by the professional distance he'd maintained the past seven years. He felt lighter in heart than he had in a decade, and it had everything to do with the petite CBI agent who had been right under his nose all along. He'd been blinded by years of mourning and rage and desire for vengeance. Seeing her now, after having felt her warm, yielding body beneath his, suddenly crystallized his vision, and it was like he was seeing her for the first time. He felt the ever-present darkness of bitterness fading into the past, replaced by the bright glow of affection and tenderness.

Lisbon noticed a subtle change come over him, softening his features as he regarded her, still standing in her doorway. Her heart lurched and picked up speed, and so, to cover her onset of nerves, she stepped aside to allow him entry. Jane walked to her small kitchen, placing his packages on the table before turning back to Lisbon and pulling her purposefully into his arms. His mouth covered hers, and she tasted mint and the hot tang of passion. Her hands slid up his firm arms and up to his shoulders, the fabric of his sweater as soft as she imagined. Her fingers slipped into his damp curls, pulling him down to fasten her lips more tightly to his.

The sound of her growling stomach interrupted them. Lisbon flushed in embarrassment as Jane pulled away with a soft laugh. "Okay, I can take a hint." He gave her one last gentle kiss on the forehead.

She moved out of his arms and went to the cabinet for two plates, two glasses, and a couple of diet sodas from the refrigerator. They sat at the table and Jane pulled out two foil-wrapped burgers and a large bag of fries. He watched in pleasure as her eyes closed in delight as she took her first bite. He wondered why he'd never noticed before how much joy she took in eating—whenever she _did _eat.

"I had them hold the onions," he commented, waggling his eyebrows wickedly.

"You don't like onions anyway," she reminded him, after finishing chewing her first bite. "You left mine off for your own selfish reasons."

He shrugged and grinned. "Guilty as charged." Jane took his own first bite, and they looked at each other around their cheeseburgers, pausing to feed each other the occasional French fry. It was amazing how easy this was for both of them. Aside from feeding one another, it was very similar to countless other meals they'd shared together. The banter was witty and unforced, despite the recent strain on their friendship. Underlying all was a new awareness, a renewed appreciation for what they'd taken for granted in their years of simply working together.

Lisbon nodded toward the gift bag still on the table beside them. "What's that?" she asked, fishing.

"One should never ask such things at Christmastime, Lisbon."

She glowered at him. "I assume it must be something for me, otherwise, why would you have brought it to my apartment?"

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow," he maintained, chewing his last bite of burger.

"When I was a little girl, we'd get to open one present on Christmas Eve. I choose yours." She wiped her hands on her napkin and reached for the bag. He staid her hand, catching her off guard with his serious expression.

"Please keep in mind that I bought one of the gifts earlier today, before we…well, I'm hoping you'll fully appreciate my intention and not kick my ass."

She was now even more intrigued, and yet his warning made her look at the bag with much trepidation. "You sure you want to give it to me then?" she asked. He paused, obviously considering it.

"No," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I suppose I'll take my chances."

She reached into the bag and pulled out a book, frowning immediately at the cover. She looked up at him. "You're kidding me, right? _Hypnotherapy for Dummies? _Just when I think you've gotten on my last nerve—seriously, you deserve a good ass-kicking for this._"_

"Now wait, Lisbon. Let me explain."

"Oh, this ought to be good."

"No need for sarcasm. I told you there were good intentions behind it. I figured if you learned yourself to hypnotize others, or at least how it's done, you won't be as intimidated or angered by what I do anymore."

"I'm not intimidated by you in the least, Patrick Jane. I happen to think hypnosis without permission is unethical, and, at the very least, inadmissible in court. You already know how I feel about this."

"Would you at least look through it, maybe give it a chance? I'll help you master it. You could even practice on me."

Now that sounded interesting. "You mean, you'd let me make you quack like a duck or spontaneously sing Abba songs? Or, I know—I'd get you to obey my every command…"

He grinned. "Sure, but you know what they say about absolute power... I was thinking more along the lines of practical applications on the job."

"I think that last suggestion would be extremely _practical_." She sighed in defeat at his pleading eyes. "Okay, I'll think about it, but I still want your oath to never again hypnotize me without my consent, or as God is my witness-"

He raised his right hand. "I swear," he said solemnly.

"Okay, I'll read it. Just out of morbid curiosity, mind you."

He smiled. "Fair enough. There's something else in there. I bought it a couple weeks ago. I know you don't wear much jewelry, but I couldn't resist…"

She reached in and pulled out a small, red velvet box and opened the hinged lid. It was a charm bracelet, made of white gold, obviously very expensive. She removed it from its velvet nest and held it up, laughing at the whimsy of the four charms dangling from the loosely braided chain.

"Oh, my God! Where in the world did you find little handcuffs? Oh, and a Glock? Is that a badge? And a…a chocolate bar?" She laughed. "The detail is amazing. Jane. I'm very impressed." She blinked at him, her eyes sparkling with humorous gratitude, and he obliged by leaning over the table and kissing her waiting lips. He sat back in his chair and took her wrist, fastening the bracelet there and holding up her hand to see the full effect.

"Lovely. I found this quaint little shop on the coast. It was hard to narrow the charms down to four-they had so many to choose from-but I wanted to leave room to add more…on other _special _occasions." His words implied there would be more days like this, more opportunities for gifts given and received. Lisbon felt warm all over.

"Thank you. I love it. And the book was very thoughtful, I guess, although I still have mixed emotions about it."

"Completely understandable. But tell me, Lisbon. Do you forgive me, for hypnotizing you?"

"Yes," she said levelly. "But don't think that you can seduce me into overlooking all your antics, particularly when they involve me."

"I don't," he said sincerely. He was surprised to realize he meant it this time. "But can I at least try?" he asked, looking absurdly hopeful.

"I guess you could try." They both smiled softly at each other, Jane taking her braceleted hand in his.

"Oh, I have something for _you_," she exclaimed, rising to her feet. "I had planned on giving it to you earlier today, but I thought I shouldn't be rewarding your bad behavior."

His expression at that was rueful, but he knew she was right. Still, he was curious about what she'd gotten him. They usually gave presents to each other at Christmas, but they were mostly practical and impersonal things—gloves, stationary, challenging puzzles, best-selling mystery novels. Even though things had obviously changed between them, she'd been angry with him a good deal of the time lately, so he truly didn't expect to receive much more than a lump of coal from her this year. And so it was with complete surprise that he watched her re-emerge from her bedroom carrying a package almost as big as she was. He rose to help her, but she assured him it wasn't heavy, and she took the colorfully wrapped box and set it on the coffee table.

Jane joined her in the living room, his face taking on a childish excitement at his gift that was oddly touching to Lisbon. It was moments like these that she understood just how disconnected he must feel without a real family, especially around the holidays. She was happy to have put that glimmer back in his eyes, and she felt her own water a little at how touched he appeared.

"I was shopping for my nieces, and I saw this. It just screamed _Jane._"

"May I open it?" he asked, with barely restrained eagerness.

She laughed. "Of course. I hope you like it, that you don't think it's too…immature."

He raised an eyebrow at that, then tore into the package with gusto.

"Oh, Lisbon," he said in awe. "This is so…cool." He picked up the box and began looking at the pictures on the outside. It was a model of a carnival, complete with a Ferris wheel and other rides, tiny hot dog stands, ticket counters, and even a little fun house. Miniature people would populate the small world, along with the animals in a lifelike petting zoo, chief among these a familiar-looking elephant.

"You really like it? You'll put it together, paint it?"

He grinned. "Only if you'll help me."

"I thought it would give you something to do up in the attic besides brood." He set down his gift and took her into his arms.

"Somehow, I don't think I'll be brooding much anymore, not if you're up there with me, anyway."

"I want to be," she whispered, understanding the deeper meaning behind his words. "Ever since you kissed me last week in your apartment, I've found, much to my surprise"—here, her lips quirked with humor—" that I want to be with you. I know it's a risk. We're both a little messed up in our own ways, and I'm not sure if either of us is in a good place to start something right now. I know it might sound crazy, but I think this thing between us could work, if we don't try too hard to screw it up."

Jane smiled, his heart picking up speed at her simple honesty. "We could just be setting ourselves up for disaster," he warned, for once the cautious one. He directed them to the couch, knowing this conversation had turned decidedly away from a lighter vein. "And there's another matter, one that I should send you running in the other direction, Teresa." He held up his left hand, where his silver wedding band still rested where Angela had placed it twenty years before. "I think _messed up_ is too polite a phrase to describe what I am, sweetheart. But there's no denying I want this—want you. I just wonder if by starting something with you I'm being too selfish. You deserve a man who can totally devote himself to your happiness. I don't know if I can ever be that man for you. As long as my family's murderer is out there, I'm going to be obsessive where Red John is concerned. I honestly don't see that changing. Tell me, Lisbon, can you really live with that?"

She already knew all of this about him. "I've been living with this from you for seven years, Jane. I know who you are, what drives you. And you seem to forget that it also drives me. I've been on this case almost as long as you have. He's responsible for killing someone I cared about too—it's personal for me, not just because of that, but because I know what he did to you—is _constantly_ doing to you. I feel just as obsessive about getting the bastard—I just express it differently, feel the need to be the reasonable voice when he strikes and you start acting crazy."

He nodded in understanding of his own failings, but he was also seeing things from her perspective for a change. He was blinded and a little on the crazy side whenever Red John reared his bloody head, but while he was off recklessly tracking down dangerous leads, bugging CBI agents, or generally disregarding the law to feed his single-minded obsession, it occurred to him now that he felt he could do these things because he knew in the back of his mind that Agent Lisbon and the rest of the team would always have his back. Oh, he might be a big talker, might say he didn't need them or that laws didn't matter, but she made him feel like he could do whatever he needed to do, no matter where the chips fell.

"You're right, Lisbon. And we might disagree about what to do with Red John when we find him, but I know you've always been there for me, supporting me even when I claimed I didn't want it. I'm grateful for that, more than you'll ever know." He leaned over and kissed her, thanking her in a way he'd never been able to before. It felt really good—_too_ good, which was what had started this conversation in the first place. He sat back again, but kept the connection to her by holding her small, capable hand in his.

"But that doesn't answer my question, Teresa. Do we go on with this—this, whatever _this_ is—and to hell with the fallout?"

She looked deeply into his eyes, knowing that she'd already made up her mind a week ago. His words had only made her more determined to try to make this work. They needed each other, both personally and professionally. He'd reassured her that it wouldn't ruin their friendship, and she truly wanted to believe that. It came down to whether these new feelings between them were worth pursuing. To her, the answer was simple.

"Yes. A relationship will take work, though, Jane. Work, honesty, forgiveness, understanding. I'm willing to try if you are."

"I can't promise I'm going to change completely," he said. "I'll do my best, but you know I'm going to screw up sometimes. No matter what, Lisbon, I don't want to lose you—that's what scares the hell out of me the most."

"You haven't lost me yet," she whispered, reaching up to smooth a lock of blonde hair back from his forehead. Her hand slid down to rest on his cheek, and the affection Jane saw in her eyes was almost his undoing. He was unused to feeling the touch of another, even one as casual as her almost motherly gesture. Then her unconscious blink warned him what was coming. Lisbon leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, the forehead, the sore nose (which made him grin), and finally, the lips. He welcomed her soft touch hungrily, deepening the kiss before either of them had the chance to think about it.

"Where's the damn bed," he murmured between warm, wet kisses, "and I better not have to take an elevator to get there."

He felt her smile against his mouth, then, taking his hand, she kissed him once more before leading him to her bedroom, which fortunately was on the ground floor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't think I thanked you properly for your Christmas gift," Jane said, much later. They were curled together beneath Lisbon's practical cotton sheets, their third encounter of the evening having been, in Jane's not-so-humble opinion, the best yet. He had taken his time, his former skill in the bedroom seeming to all come back to him, and he felt the usual sense of pride he normally felt when he did something well. If Lisbon's cries of ecstasy were any indication, he'd done very well indeed. _Like riding a bicycle, _concurred the man and his expansive ego_. _

"Oh, I think I've been well and truly _thanked_," she said dryly. He kissed the sable head beneath his chin, then grinned as the red garland she now wore around her bare neck scratched against his naked chest.  
"And you, my dear, are the most beautiful bit of holiday decorating I've ever done." At his words, she reached up to touch the gaudy tinsel, feeling herself flushing in response; it had been an interesting addition to their lovemaking.

"I never thought Christmas garland could be used as an instrument of sensual torture," she replied. "I should inform the UN or something, maybe see about modifying the Geneva Conventions."

He chuckled, his hands meeting hers over the red garland. He rolled her onto her back so he could see her face, and she blinked up at him, green eyes overflowing with happiness, and—dare he name it?—an emotion too stunning to even contemplate, especially since he was certain it was reflected in his own eyes. His face grew serious, and just before he leaned down to fulfill her unspoken wishes, he lightly tapped her upper arm, covering the quick pat with a caress. With that, he'd broken the spell.

Jane was confident by now that he knew precisely when Teresa Lisbon wanted to be kissed. He lowered his head to kiss her again, just to check his theory.

**THE END**

**A/N: **I so hope you enjoyed this fic. I'll be taking a break from writing any more new fics for this fandom until the new season starts, but I hope to see you here again for a tag for the first episode, "Scarlet Ribbons." While we're all waiting, I encourage you to check out a wonderful fic I just read by Rothelena, called "Safe House." Do a search for it—it's the best post- finale fic I've read, I think. Be warned, however, that the sex scene in this one-shot is very hardcore "M" (but even that is done well!). Don't let that scare you away from this beautifully written story.

Thanks for reading and for your continued support of my writing. You guys are amazing!


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